


King

by Lebateleur



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Exile, Jealousy, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Loki Angst, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Doesn't Play Nice, Loki Feels, Loki-centric, Odin's A+ Parenting, Power Dynamics, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Worldbuilding, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebateleur/pseuds/Lebateleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki had been a son of Odin.  Now he wants to be a king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this fic in April 2013; it takes place immediately after the events of Avengers and is not The Dark World compliant. It's still a WIP, but fully plotted out, so it's just a matter of getting there.

In the end, he had just wanted to return to Asgard. The universe was vast and it was cold. It had shown him realms beyond anything he’d imagined possible. This had given him power, and along with it the knowledge that he was small. 

Traveling through the wastes he had encountered the Chitauri and through them the means by which he might return home. And better still, he had been able to play them against his erstwhile brother, so complacent and sure as the favored son, so caught up in his child’s game of playing at Earth’s guardian. Loki hoped that with the death of each meaningless human Thor suffered as he suffered.

But all games draw to a close—even this one—and when Loki saw that his army was destroyed and he himself outmatched he gave himself up and prepared to be taken back home to face “Asgardian justice,” as Thor had put it. He had trusted in Thor’s better nature to argue for leniency on his behalf and Thor’s status as their…his…father’s favorite to secure it.

But the Allfather had been angry. Angrier than Loki had ever known him to be, and all for the death of some insignificant humans and an even fewer number of minor palace servants. The Allfather had demanded total contrition. The demand aroused in Loki a cold, burning scorn, for by rights _he_ was the one who should be demanding contrition for the lies he’d been told almost from the day of his birth, deceptions concerning not only his origin but also what he could rightfully expect to be his. Not only had what he’d long thought his birthright been stripped from him, but they would surely use his true parentage to prevent him from claiming what should be his by virtue of intelligence and skill, as well.

Loki had schooled his expression into studied disinterest as the Allfather thundered and raged from the safety of his throne. His eyes roved over the host that had assembled in the great hall to see him—once the Son of Odin, once King of Asgard, and King of Earth after that—brought low. He had let his gaze fall on each man and woman there without lingering on any of them. Met their eyes just long enough so that they knew that he saw them, and cared nothing for what they thought of him. This storm would blow over soon enough and then he would be left in peace to nurse his wounds and plan his next course of action. He may have returned to Asgard in humiliation, a captive, but he was resolved to show him that he was yet a king.

But the Allfather was not content to merely rant and stomp. And he had slept long and heavily after collapsing at Loki’s feet, long enough to conceive an appropriate punishment for his wayward son. In the end, even Thor would most likely have been powerless to stop it, although Loki noted that he had not tried.

So certain was Loki that this public humiliation at the hands of his "father" was to be the whole of his punishment that he merely stood in mute disbelief as the four members of Odin’s personal guard approached him, clapped him in enspelled chains, and led him from the throne hall down into the very depths of Asgard where the mountains of the citadel plunged through the world disk to the hanging lands on the other side.

The first true tendril of fear had uncurled in Loki’s stomach at the expression of shock on Thor’s face as he was led away, for if the Allfather had not even confided in his true son what punishment he intended for Loki, it was because he knew Thor would try to talk him out of it, and did not trust himself to stand firm against him. And for all his protestations of brotherly love, Thor was mightily angry too. Any punishment he would council Odin to abandon would be horrible indeed.

It had been more horrible than Loki could have imagined. They had held him prone on a cold slab of rock in that hollow at the center of the world. The Allfather, his face thrown into crags and shadows by the torches, stared down at Loki, his anger more fierce than it had been in the throne room before the hosts of Asgard.

_This,_ Loki thought, _is what the frost giants saw as he cut them down in Jotunheim._

"Loki, who I called my son," Odin pronounced. "You have schemed to overthrow my kingdom. You have threatened my life, the life of your brother, and the lives of all those under my protection in Asgard. You have led my enemies into the very heart of my halls and imperiled the lesser worlds under my dominion.

"Had you any sons of your own I would slay them before you and bind you to this rock with their entrails."

Loki had gasped and stared at the Allfather with frantic eyes, wondering if true contrition would be enough to help him now.

"But," Odin continued. "As you have no sons of your own I will do it to you yourself."

The pain was sudden, blinding, and revelatory. He arched from the rock, spine curving agony as his guts were torn from his stomach and twined around him. They turned to iron as they touched his skin, binding him in place at the shoulders, the chest, the hips, the knees. He writhed, eyes unfocused as his body descended into the sleep that would keep him alive until he regained the energy to heal from this violation. Odin was still intoning something above him, but he did not understand the words.

He woke to thick, suffocating blackness. His surroundings were dry and cold, the iron frigid in the wintry air, and it burned where it touched his skin. He could see nothing, and hear nothing but his own breath and the roar of his blood in his ears. Each second passed like an aeon until he thought he would go mad with boredom, but he remained as they’d bound him, unmoving. His rage would sustain him through the humiliation and the monotony. The Allfather’s anger would quiet as it always did after Loki’s cunning and intellect had triumphed where bombast and brute force could not. Eventually Odin—or more likely, Thor—would return to demand whether Loki was ready to atone for his transgressions. And when that happened, Loki’s silver tongue would gain him their forgiveness, as it always had before.

But moments passed and passed and no one came. He was by turns angry, bored, and miserable. So this was the game the Allfather intended to play. Let him. Of the two of them Loki was the one who knew best how to bide his time, and he would not give Odin the satisfaction of breaking first. He would lie here, patiently, in silence, so that no one could claim that even this punishment was too much for him, or that he was not repentant.

When the first drop of venom fell he didn't even realise what had happened. Having grown bored of daydreaming and unable to sleep, he lay as they had bound him, feeling reproachful and alone. Then suddenly he was panting, sheened in clammy sweat, skin tender and bruised where it met the iron bonds as if he had just tried to wrench himself bodily from his chains. Inexplicably exhausted, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

He wondered whether he’d imagined it, when he awoke, if the solitude and monotony were birthing phantasms in his mind. The moments stretched on as before. And then his spine twisted as though crumpled in a giant’s fist and he was panting roughly into the silence. It hurt to draw each breath and his throat felt scoured raw. Once more, an overpowering fatigue compelled him into sleep.

The third time, he kept his wits about him through sheer force of will so that he was conscious of every agonizing moment of it, from the first contact of venom on his lips to the path it burned through his veins. He writhed so mightily it knocked dust and grit from the roof of the chamber.

It occurred to Loki that this torment must have been occurring all along, but that the effort of regenerating his viscera had left him oblivious to it.

Loki had truly resolved to remain a voluntary captive until the Allfather saw fit to release him, but this had changed everything. He had never intended to reveal that he could break free of the chains that bound him, but no longer. He would be damned if he willingly let himself suffer this humiliation one instant further.

Loki had only undergone the change twice before. He had been overcome by fear and blinding anger both times, so that he was not entirely sure after how to bring it about, only that he could. He shut his eyes against the darkness and concentrated. The first signs were nearly imperceptible: a faint tingling in his extremities, a feeling of sudden warmth flushing his limbs and moving up into his torso.

But that warmth was the illusory warmth of heat escaping the body of a man dying on a frozen waste, and it was quickly replaced by the sensation of cold flooding his veins and creeping across his skin like a net of ice crystals across a leaded window. When the transformation was complete, the irons that had bound him to his torment fell away. They had been spelled to bind Loki of Asgard, but he was no Asgardian.

Such a simple solution to a punishment the Allfather doubtless believed to be inescapable. The Allfather prided himself on seeing all, but he was blind to so many things. 

Loki could not say how long he huddled at the base of the stone to which he had once been bound, trying to gather his wits so that he could plan what action he must take next. His body was frightening and unfamiliar. It responded in unfamiliar ways, his movements jerky and somehow too quick, and his vision was now exquisitely sensitive to subtle shadings of black, grey, and blue—the palette of ice and snow. His surroundings, while still cloaked in thick darkness, were impenetrably black no more. He leaned his cheek against the frigid rock and fought to steady his breathing as blue-grey skin shaded back to white and the blackness slowly returned.

He knew he must calm himself, think rationally about what to do next. The way forward was usually so clear to him; it was difficult to face that he had no idea what to do now. Oh, he had immediate goals, to be sure: to quit this dungeon, to locate a place to regroup and lick his wounds, to find a way to make them all pay for what they had done. But how to accomplish these things, he knew not.

A pity Thor had destroyed the Bifrost. Had he not, it would have been a simple thing for Loki to make his way past Heimdall and from thence to Earth or any other of the Nine Realms. That door was closed to him, however, and so he needed to devise a new way forward. But this knowledge merely brought him back to the same fundamental question: What did he want?

To return to Asgard? Not particularly. That realm had had its chance to embrace him as its king and it had cast him out. Likewise Earth. Let Thor and his merry band of idiots waste their days trying to protect its hordes of pissant inhabitants. Loki already knew what a fruitless undertaking that was.

No, he was after something else. Something greater. But what? New powers? Where would he find them? New realms? He had seen quite enough of those on his last ill-begotten sojourn through the outer reaches, thank you.

A kingdom? It was hardly strange that he should keep returning to this, as he had been born to rule, the son of one king and hostage of another. And yes, there it was. It was so elegant in its simplicity. His kingdom would be what it had always been—Jotunheim. For he was the son of Laufey, the old king, who was now dead.

He, Loki, was King of Jotunheim.

Now he had a course of action. But how to begin? He knew many ways by which he might return to Jotunheim, none of which he could make use of save through the citadel above, and to attempt that would be madness. Might there be a way forward from this dungeon? The caverns that laced the mountains beneath Asgard were reportedly both extensive and treacherous; surely some of that danger might originate from gates through which beings could cross from one realm to another?

Loki quickly dismissed the idea. He had no wish to waste time wandering aimlessly searching for an exit that might not even exist. And should he find such a portal, who knew where it might lead? No, he would go directly to Jotunheim or he would not go at all. Surely there was a way. Experience had taught him that there always was, if he looked deeply enough.

The solution, when it came to him, was so simple he wondered that it had not occurred to him earlier. The Tesseract. Thor had taken it from him and brought it back to the Allfather like a cat laying a dead bird before its master’s feet. What was it Thor had said? “The Tesseract will remain safe in Asgard now.” Imagine, to take possession of an artifact of such power without having any intention of using it. Even now it must be sitting on a pedestal, unguarded, in the Allfather’s vault, mere miles above where Loki sat in this dungeon. He had wielded the Tesseract’s power and knew its ways well. He had used it to open a door to Earth from across the cosmos. To open a door from the center of Asgard to Jotunheim would be child’s play in comparison.

Loki inhaled deeply, centering himself, and began. Eyes shut, he let his consciousness wander, out of the dungeon, up through the layers of rock and mineral, up to the surface of the world. Searching, questioning, and ah, there it was. Faint, but undeniable, that pulse of pure, raw power, unmistakable for anything else. He followed it, reaching out with his mind, and felt it reach out to him in response. 

And then, as he had before, he surrendered to it, giving himself over completely until he was nothing more than a conduit for its force. Then, once the Tesseract’s power hummed through him like lightening striking toward the earth, the most delicate part of the dance. The slightest misstep might destroy him, but he had no intention of making any mistakes now. Slowly, carefully, he began easing around its…presence…until his power hummed through the Tesseract instead.

He had to move quickly now, before he was discovered. As arrogant and ignorant as the Asgardians were, even they could hardly fail to miss the awakening of such suffocating power within their midst. And so, having harnessed the full force of the Tesseract, Loki bent it toward Jotunheim, envisioning its cold plains, its barren peaks, the frigid grey skies. Then came the sudden, sickening jolt for which he could never properly prepare himself, as if he’d been ripped from the fabric of existence itself and then thrust back into it at speed. When he opened his eyes, nauseated and weak, skin clammy from the stress of the transportation, it was to find himself in Jotunehim.

He crawled into the lea of a boulder and lay there, breathing heavily and waiting for the nausea to pass. Using the Tesseract to simply cast his consciousness across the cosmos was exhausting; to transport body and mind both, all the more so. Loki despised the vulnerability it entailed. But this time at least no enemy, either Chitauri or human, was waiting at his destination to be dealt with. He could take as much time as was necessary to recover.

It was the cold that finally forced him to move. It posed little threat to him in and of itself, but the sensation of being chilled to the bone was unpleasant in the extreme. More prosaically, he would be a weak match for any foe that presented itself were his muscles sluggish, his fingers too chilled to properly work a spell. And so he rose, shivering slightly, and set out. To where, he knew not.

Once movement quickened the flow of blood through his veins, restoring with it a faint sensation of warmth, Loki began to take stock of his surroundings. He stood at the top of some sort of ridge or bluff, surrounded on three sides by boulder-strewn slopes and on the fourth by a sheer drop to a gulley hundreds of feet below. There was no sign of the broken hall in which he had once stood before Laufey in negotiation, all those years ago.

He had no idea where he was. For all he knew, he was on the other side of the realm.

With no immediate plan and not wishing to remain exposed on this high ground, Loki chose a slope at random and set off down it, picking his way between boulders and icy shelves that shifted treacherously beneath his feet. He had no idea of the direction in which he was headed. Whatever sun illuminated this blasted world was perpetually hidden from view behind thick grey clouds that cast a diffuse light across the landscape.

Loki considered a spell of location, but quickly thought the better of it. When last he had journeyed here with Thor, the frost giants had discovered their presence within minutes, through some means still unknown to him. Best not to use much magic here until he better understood his enemy’s abilities.

Eventually, he reached the base of the bluff and began to make his way along a frozen river that ran away from the ridge, bounded on both sides by more steep cliffs. The silence of this world was crushing without the sound of any companions' footfalls in the snow to accompany his. He wandered for what seemed like hours but could have been far less; there was no way to mark the passage of time in the unchanging light.

Eventually he stopped in the shelter of a pile of boulders to rest. His legs had grown heavy with walking. He had seen no sign of frost giant or beast. Considered one way, this meant the Jotun knew nothing of his presence and that the advantage of surprise was his still.

In another regard, it boded ill, for he might wander for days before encountering another living creature. He wondered what he might find to eat in this realm. He supposed he could eat whatever offal the frost giants consumed, if pressed by necessity. The thought was distasteful in the extreme. To be sure, he could survive long without food or drink, and indeed had forgone both during his lengthy imprisonment in the guts of Asgard. Yet they were a pleasure in which he planned to indulge now that he had won his freedom.

No matter. Once he was acknowledged as rightful ruler of this realm, he would bid his subjects bring him whatever he desired.

Loki had intended to press on, but having once paused, found that he was now too weary to continue. Lacking even a cloak to draw about himself for warmth, he risked a minor charm that generated a faint cocoon of heat around his body. Curling up within it, he dozed fitfully against the rocks.

Eventually the spell faded and he awoke chilled and shivering to a world that looked much the same as it had when he had fallen asleep, save for the wind that now whistled down from the peaks and picked up the snow in little eddies that swirled about him as he walked.

He trod onward as the wind continued to worsen. Thick flurries of snow now came in bursts, whipping around towering columns of stone and catching up against tumbled boulders that could have been the ruins of some great hall or nothing but a pile of rocks. He could see little more than an arm’s span in front of him. The soft hiss of the falling flakes was barely discernible over the sound of his boots crunching the snow to ice. The snow was falling heavily in the riverbed now, though Loki noted that the heights above were as clear as ever.

He strode a few paces into a large clearing where the riverbed widened and stopped. A smile toyed at the corners of his lips, now slightly blue with cold despite his immortal’s constitution. "Nicely done," he said to sheer wall of ice before him. "So carefully orchestrated it was difficult at first to notice. But you realise I have not survived this long," his voice sharpened dangerously "through inattentiveness to my surroundings."

He lowered his head and smiled at the empty clearing, the turn of his lips sharper even than the wind. "Show yourselves," he snarled, "and I _might_ be lenient."

“You should not have come here, interloper,” said a voice in the low, hollow tones of a Jotun. “Now you will die.”

A deafening roar sounded from above and he wheeled to face it, fingers already forming the gestures that would summon his blades to his empty hands. But it was only a shelf of snow and ice detaching itself from the cliff face to tumble to the valley floor below.

"Oh," he said softly. "You would be wise not to play games with me." Pivoting to the rear—for that was surely the direction from which they intended to strike while his attention was diverted—he loosed the dagger with a casual flick of the wrist and smiled as he heard it strike home. Whispering a word of power, Loki willed white hot heat through its blade and was rewarded by the monster’s death keen of pain and disbelief.

He faced forward—let them see that he was unafraid to turn his back to them—and stilled, daring them to make the next move. 

He did not have long to wait. From his left came a cracking like a frozen river breaking free of its banks as a second Jotun summoned a blade of ice to coat its arm. Loki whipped toward the sound and loosed another blade. It too struck home, and his quarry fell to the earth with a thud.

Having lost two of their number to single combat, the remaining Jotun charged as one—a tactic Loki remembered all too well from his first ill-begotten sojourn in this realm. He swallowed as their feet pounded toward him—today he was only one, whereas before Thor and four other warriors had fought by his side. No matter. He had been hardened by many battles since

He danced lightly about the clearing, striking first one opponent and then the next, mixing blade and magic in turn. A moment of fear as one of the Jotun slipped his guard. White hot pain lanced up his arm where the monster gripped him and then was gone as his true form awoke in response and the cold was cold no more. He slashed the creature’s neck from ear to ear as it stared at him in incomprehension.

Another charged him from the right and he countered, steel shrieking as it met ice. Again, the sudden searing pain as yet another Jotun caught him from behind. And again, the pain was gone a moment later. Loki made short work of the first Jotun, then turned toward the second. It stood dumbly, willing ever more cold through its fingers into his flesh. Loki severed its hand from its wrist and then finished it with a bolt of flame.

“Odin’s eye!” he swore, an oath he would never have dared utter in Asgard, then threw back his head and laughed. Battle? He needn’t even waste the effort to defend himself. He could simply let them come to him and slay them where they stood.

Three more charged. Blade, flame, flame, and they threatened him no longer. Ah, it had been too long since he’d tasted triumph like this. Six Jotun remained. Less foolhardy than their slain companions, they circled him warily, awaiting an opening. A sudden cry, down low by his foot. He turned. A Jotun lay at his feet, cradling the stump of its arm to its chest, deep gashes where Loki’s magic had melted it running the length of its body.

It took no more than this single moment of distraction. One of the creatures loosed a fusillade of ice shards, sharp as blades, that struck home in his shoulder, torso, thigh. The cold he could withstand, but this was a higher order of pain. He cried out, fell to one knee, rolled back onto his feet—careless!—and darted toward the largest gap between the monsters. Uninjured, he would have been a close match for their speed, but no longer. The noose closed about him before he came anywhere near to breaking free of their ranks.

For a moment all were still. Loki saw that only one option now remained. He sank to his knees, knowing it would be useless to try to run. “This is not your realm, weakling,” said the largest of the giants’ number, and then they charged as one.

He crumpled beneath them, stunned by the press of their massive bodies and the shock of cold they sent through him. They were as intent on fighting each other to deliver the death blow as they were on slaying him. It would have been comical, had he not grown weary of this farce. He spoke the words of the charm softly, barely moving his lips, although it was unlikely they could have heard him had he shouted it given the racket they were making.

So caught up were they in the illusion of victory that they did not immediately notice how the cold had reversed its flow, no longer passing into his body. The Jotun that had pinned his arms to the ground realised first, red eyes widening in fear and pain as steam began to rise from every point where it touched Loki’s body. It screamed a warning to its comrades, but by then it was too late. Loki willed the cocoon of warmth hotter still as the frenzied Jotun tried to flee on melting legs. Their taunts of triumph became shrieks of agony and terror, then gurgled away at last to silence.

He lay prone in the sudden quiet, exhausted and chilled to the bone as the charm wore away and the slush of the Jotuns’ corpses cooled again to ice. Blood oozed from his shoulder and thigh, spread out from his stomach in a ruby pool around him. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and stared for a moment at the freezing sky. He should never have allowed himself to be wounded like this. He had acted like a fool and it had cost him dearly. 

A scraping sound, as of something large and bulky being dragged across the ice, roused him from his stupor. He pulled himself to his knees and watched in derision as the Frost Giant whose cry of pain had let the others’ daggers find a home pulled itself toward him on its one good hand, laboriously dragging a wounded leg behind it through the snow and corpses.

“You can’t possibly mean to challenge me,” he sneered.

The Jotun stared at him with hatred on its features. “You don’t belong here, weakling,” it said, echoing its dead leader. “This is our realm.” 

“On the contrary,” he said, smile taut. “This realm belongs to me. As does this.” He rose and wrenched free his blade from where it had lodged in the Jotun’s right knee, giving an extra twist as he pulled it from the icy flesh. He was rewarded by a cry of horror. The Jotun gasped and rolled onto its back, spasming in the snow.

Loki left it where it lay and limped through the thick snowfall to the other side of the clearing. That cry had not come from the Jotun at his feet. Surely he had not failed to kill _two_ of the monsters? It belied belief. 

Yet there it was, crouched beneath a low overhang, mottled blue skin blending almost seamlessly into the shadows and ice. “Did my blow really fall so wide of the mark?” he asked, wondering at his ineptitude. “Ah no, I see. You were too much a coward to join the fight at all.”

He crouched at the lip of the overhang and watched in amusement as the Jotun cringed away from him. 

"Kill me, but know that you cannot hope to defeat us all," it rasped at last.

"Oh," said Loki, eyebrows arching. "But I don't mean to defeat you. I mean to rule you." He found that, having said the words aloud, they felt right in his mouth. This was his kingdom. He _would_ rule these beasts.

The Jotun stared at him mutely, trembling. Loki watched, bemused, as tears of fear tracked ice rivulets down its face. He had not known that Jotun could weep. The creature hissed, though it did not meet his eyes.

"I see you are unconvinced," said Loki, leaning one arm casually across his knee. "But I do not speak idly. I will make this realm my own." And then, as the thought occurred: "Who claims to rule here now?"

"Laufey, our King--"

"Is dead," he finished. And then, in response to the sly narrowing of its eyes, "Oh, don’t bother lying. I know best of all why he failed to return from Asgard.”

He let the words sink in. The look of despair on the Jotun’s face was worth savoring. “Surely,” he continued slowly, “you must have known that any Asgardian would realize you were dissembling. 

“And,” his gaze swept the clearing, “you must have known what penalty they would extract for your deception.” His tone sent the creature twitching back toward the shadows. He smiled at it, voice soft once more. “Why even bother trying?”

"I am dead anyway," it said simply. "What difference does it make, in the end, if I fail to trick you?"

Loki considered its words, the bitterness in its voice, and its tears. It knew it was going to die, and it was terrified. 

He could find a use for terror. "No," he said slowly. "You are not dead. Not yet." He rose, "Aid me and I will spare your life."

"And betray my own kind? To a worm of Asgard?" It spat. "I choose death."

How irritating. He had not expected such foolhardy bravado from a creature that skulked behind rocks while its companions fought, and wept not for their deaths but for its own discovery. He had thought to exploit that self-serving cowardice, but now that the creature had discovered some latent wellspring of valor it would have to die after all. All the same, Loki was surprised to find such honor among beasts. He meant to say as much, but was cut short by the sneering voice behind him.

"Brave words. For a coward. The Asgardian named you well."

"I am no coward!" the Jotun protested. Anger imbued every syllable, although Loki noticed the creature dared not meet the eyes of its accuser, just as it had dared not meet his.

"And yet you did not fight," the wounded Jotun said, each word thick with mockery.

"I would have!" the creature retorted, and with heat. Then it caught itself and fell silent. Still, it was no difficult feat for Loki to infer the words it had bitten back unsaid.

“A frost giant not taught the arts of battle?” he asked, incredulous. As far as Loki had ever been given reason to believe, the Jotun did little but battle—in Jotunheim, on Midgard, on Asgard and in any other realm they could reach. He could only hope the Jotun hosts more closely resembled this one, incapable of offering any resistance to him, than they did the berserkers he had thus far encountered.

“A frost giant that cannot fight,” he repeated. For the sheer joy of needling the creature, he asked, “Tell me, what good are you then, to anyone?”

The Jotun flinched as if struck.

“Good?” the wounded frost giant spat from behind Loki’s back. “He is of no good. A runt, not worthy to call himself a Jotun.” 

He should quit wasting time, slay these creatures and be done with it. But…the coward’s resentment and the cripple’s disdain captivated him, as did all discordant emotions between any who should be friends or allies. “Rise,” Loki commanded the cowering Jotun. It obeyed slowly, one trembling hand gripping the rock wall for support. Once standing, he saw that it was indeed small, smaller than any of its kind he had ever encountered. And yet, Loki thought as he gazed at it, it stands over me by two hand spans at least.

No wonder I was cast out as soon as I was born.

The thought came unbidden, and unwelcome. To banish it, he said, "A runt indeed. I wonder that you weren't left to die at birth."

The creature flinched again, face twisting. So the Allfather had not lied about that, at least. The Jotun killed their weak in their infancy.

The wounded Jotun snorted in amusement. "Wasteful. Even runts are born with hands and feet."

Ah. So that explained it. The coward was not this Jotun’s companion, but its chattel. Loki held his tongue, considering his next move. He _should_ quit wasting his time, slay these creatures and be done with it. But one wounded Jotun and its slave posed no immediate threat. He need not act in haste.

He was wounded, though not so grievously that he could not defend himself should the need arise. Still, he would need a place to shelter while he healed and eventually something to eat. He did not know where he was or what lay beyond the horizon, both gaps in his knowledge he would need to correct. It would be distasteful, but not irrational, to remedy that now.

He turned once more to the frost giant before him. "As a beast of burden, you could serve me just as readily as you serve your current masters."

He could read it as easily as any Asgardian, for all that its features were alien and ugly. Brave intention flared once more across its face, but Loki spoke before it had the chance to turn that foolish impulse into words. “But you would serve me even better armed.”

Bravado now leeched into indecisiveness, as Loki had thought it would.

“Oh yes,” he said softly. “I would give you the chance to learn what even your own kind would not.”

Now greed, disbelief, yearning flickered across the creature’s face. Loki watched with appraising eyes. "You long to learn. I can teach you. What holds you back?"

"That he will die a coward and a traitor," snarled the wounded Jotun.

“Traitor? To those that would have cast him out, save for his useful _hands and feet?_ ”

Now the runt did meet Loki’s gaze, anger and naked desire suffusing its features. The wounded frost giant erupted into a string of profanities and threats.

"You are merely one, Asgardian!" it raged. "One against every Jotun in this realm! You cannot defeat us all. Slay many, but more will come. And you will meet your death at their hands, as will any who aids you!" 

Loki let it rage, his attention focused solely on the creature before him. He was pleased to see that it too ignored the tirade, no longer fearful of the crippled creature that spat and cursed behind them.

"What guarantee do I have, Asgardian," it said at last, slowly. "That you will keep your word?"

He smiled. "Oh, none whatsoever.”

Fear and anger flooded its features once again and Loki delighted in how easily he could pull these strings.

"However.” He turned and paced a few steps away, finger raised as if to lecture. “As you yourself have noted, you are dead already.

"But," he continued, affecting nonchalance though he knew this to be the critical moment, "As your…comrade…helpfully notes, I too am one against many—as good as dead myself, but slightly less so with another by my side. Serve me well”—he ceased pacing and regarded it, face an earnest mask—“and we might each survive a little longer.”

He had judged his words well. The creature swallowed, and nodded.

"Good," he said, and then paused and smiled. "Still, I think, an act of loyalty, to prove the degree of your sincerity." The smile vanished from his face and he pointed to the wounded Jotun. His voice was no longer soft. "Kill him."

The runt gasped and flinched away from Loki, protesting, though its words could not be heard over the curses of the crippled frost giant. Loki waited until they both fell silent. "Kill him," he repeated softly. "Or you both die."

The runt had backed into its former hiding place beneath the overhang. "No," it whispered. And then, when Loki did not answer, "How?"

"However you choose," he said, not bothering to keep the impatience from his voice. For a moment, it seemed as though his efforts had been for naught, but then the runt took one step forward, and then another. Loki did not bother to watch as it crossed the clearing to its former master, whimpering. He heard the scuffling as the wounded frost giant tried to struggle to its feet. Then the snarled imprecations as it cursed the runt, its mother, and its offspring down through nine generations. Its angry snarls mixed with the runt's helpless whimpers, then turned to a scream of pain as the first blow fell.

The runt struck, backed away, struck again. Too frightened to attack directly, even though its victim lay lame and maimed on the ground, the wounds it inflicted were clumsy and shallow. But by degrees the Jotun’s raging grew weaker as the runt’s blows fell faster and deeper.

The low thudding of the blade into flesh was eventually replaced by the runt’s horrified gasping, and only the did Loki turn back to it. “Your handiwork is pitiful,” he said, enjoying the flicker of terrified resentment in its eyes. “But, you have done as bidden. In time I may teach you to improve on what you have accomplished here.”

"Now come," he said, and moved away to the mouth of the clearing, trying not to visibly favor his wounded leg. After a moment, he heard the runt’s crunching footfalls behind him.

They walked for another interminable interval. The blizzard had died along with whichever Jotun had summoned it to entrap him, but now Loki’s injuries did the work of slowing his progress in its place. The runt still trailed several paces behind him, though Loki paid it little notice. He needed all his remaining energy simply to keep moving on.

What he needed most was to rest, but he was reluctant to call a halt to their march. After all, the runt had already killed a fellow frost giant. What guarantee had he that it would not turn on him next? To be sure, it would never survive the attempt, but Loki would rather not have to deal with the inconvenience of killing it.

They continued on. The icy boundaries of the clearing gradually gave way to low, rolling foothills and those, in time, became the flat, featureless plain through which they trod now. Loki’s wounds throbbed with each step. He had pushed himself beyond all endurance. Yet he would be utterly exposed should he stop to rest here, visible from miles away to a frost giant or any other creature that might chance across him.

Another misstep. He should have rested while still within the mountains’ protective terrain instead of forcing himself on. But now he was left with little choice. He must either rest now or collapse where he stood. "Stop,” he commanded the creature behind him. We rest here."

"Here?" The reply was timid, yet an element of disbelief lurked beneath the fear in the creature’s voice. Apparently it was not entirely lacking in common sense.

“Yes,” Loki said, so fatigued it was all he could do to remain on his feet as he spoke. “You take the first watch.” He was beyond caring that it might attempt to kill him as he slept. Let it try; he would slay it and be done with it.

"Another test," the creature said bitterly. Its lips twisted. “I know better than to try.”

Loki blinked. He had not considered that bidding the creature stand watch while he slept could serve to test its loyalty just as commanding it to kill another Jotun had. But not only had the creature realized this, it had done so when Loki himself had not. He was surprised to find that it was capable of such reasoning. Aloud he said only,” Then you are wiser than your former masters.

“If you see that anything—anything at all—nears us, wake me immediately. Approach me for any other reason, and you will die." And with that he cast another cocoon of warmth about himself and collapsed into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke to the same heavy clouds and diffuse grey light as before, the featureless plain still stretching out in every direction. The runt lay curled on the ground several paces away. Its red eyes were open and watching Loki, but it did not react when it saw that he was awake. Loki noted that it had fashioned a small hillock of snow and ice to shelter itself from the gaze of whatever might be wandering this wasteland while they rested. He was starting to find these flashes of craftiness concerning. 

Loki sat up slowly, carefully flexing his arms and legs to gauge the state of his injuries. His wounds had sealed while he slept, though they still sent stabs of pain through his body whenever he shifted position. He rose to his feet and walked over to the runt. "Rise," he commanded. "We walk."

It did as bidden, its face devoid of expression

They set off once more across the plain. Loki had slept fitfully, but deeply enough that he was thinking with a clearer head. Upon reconsidering his actions, he found he had taken some alarming risks, not least of which was to spare the monster now trailing a few paces behind him, its footfalls far softer in the snow than seemed possible for its size.

Not only had he not slain it on sight, he had taken it captive. Captive! And then he had slept in its presence. What had possessed him? His initial assessment of the creature had not—the idea that it posed him any physical threat was risible. But it had proved far more cunning than any Jotun had a right to be, and on more than one occasion. _And he had slept in its presence._ How had this seemed so little cause for concern at the time?

To fall asleep before an enemy—he had made the same mistake as Thor, as the Allfather, would have. He had acted as though brute force alone would carry the day against his foes. He, who knew better than any that mere strength offered little protection against an enemy who could think. He felt certain the runt would never try to attack him directly, even had he not discovered that it was no warrior. But why had it not tried to summon others to its aid while Loki slept? It was far from the only frost giant in the realm. 

Had it been too frightened of its former masters? Afraid of being made a slave again? Perhaps. But for all its cowardice, it had proved to be surprisingly defiant, both to its masters and to Loki as well. And surely a citizen of Asgard would be a pretty prize to bring its own kind to prove it was worth more than the chattel they treated it as. 

So not that, then. But if not that, then what? Had Loki’s words truly been so persuasive? He’d relied on nothing more than his silver tongue to extricate himself from danger many times before. But again, the runt had proved itself more cunning than the others of its ilk with which Loki had dealt in the past. Was it cunning enough to realize that to teach it to fight would be to hand it the means by which to defeat its own teacher? Its desperate longing to learn might blind it to the fact that Loki had no intention of honoring his words, for that very reason. He knew well how such naked desire could bend even the strongest of men, for he has often used it to do so himself. 

And yet, as they trod through the snow Loki was keenly aware of the runt’s red-eyed gaze on his back. It felt heavy with calculation.

So, no. He may have convinced it initially, but it had likely seen through his deception since. That would mean that it had not attempted to summon any allies to its side because none were near at hand. 

And that posed its own set of difficulties. It meant that the waste over which they now trekked was so inhospitable not even Jotun cared to dwell within. 

Loki understood why. The landscape had begun to play tricks on his eyes. Shapes and colors danced at the corners of his vision, things he knew should not be there that disappeared whenever he turned to look at them directly. The phantasms worsened until the plain seemed to spin about him as he walked. He wove back and forth on unsteady feet before finally ordering the runt to walk before him. So long as he fixed his eyes on its back he was able to keep to some semblance of a straight line. 

It was a relief to no longer feel the creature’s gaze between his shoulder blades. 

Loki concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as the waves of disorientation grew slowly weaker. His position was tenuous. He had been wise to take the runt captive after all: it was clearly untroubled by the hallucinations that would have kept Loki from crossing this expanse alone. And yet, it was a beast. Like all beasts, should it sense weakness, it would attack. He must disguise the extent of his vulnerability before that occurred. 

In the end, the runt forced his hand before he could act. With no warning, it came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Only instincts honed through years of moving silently through Asgard’s halls, stopping on an instant’s notice to slip into the shadows and overhear a private conversation, prevented Loki from walking directly into its back.

“Did I order you to stop?” he asked, voice low. Neither the tightening of the beast’s shoulders nor its sudden shudder slipped his notice. Still, it did not answer. 

Where most would repeat the demand, and with more anger, Loki merely waited. Those with true power had no need to rage. 

The silence stretched on, until: “Teach me.” A steadiness lurked beneath the tremble in the beast’s voice.

“What?”

“Teach me. Show me how to fight.”

Loki inhaled sharply. “Oh, do be careful. I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders to _me._ "

“Am I not?”

How galling, to be so openly challenged. It is nothing more than a beast, Loki reminded himself. And like any beast, fear would tame it. “Look at me.” 

It turned to face him as bidden. Loki was suddenly aware of the difference in their heights. How easy it would have been for the creature, had it known how to fight and he not, to reach down and strike his head from his shoulders. To disguise his discomfiture he repeated, “You are in no position to give orders to me.”

Had the beast’s mouth twitched? It said again, “Am I not?”

“I warn you,” he said softly, “You would do well not to make idle threats—“ 

“How idle are they, Asgardian? You don’t even know where you are.”

He had enough presence of mind to bite back the reflexive denial before he spoke aloud. Quickly he said, “On the contrary, it is you who know nothing of my purpose. I have not strayed from my destination since we set out.” 

“Haven’t you?" The creature smiled. "I’ve lead us in circles for the past two hours.” 

Unease unfurled in Loki’s chest. Could it be true? Could it? He had thought they’d moved directly across the plain, but could he truly be sure? “Enough!” he demanded. He closed the distance between them, finger raised to the creature’s chin. “One word further and I will kill you where you stand.”

The awful smile was fixed on its face, its eyes flashing with cunning and triumph. “Kill me, then. And then starve here or wander on until you freeze to death elsewhere.” Its eyebrows lifted. “It makes no difference to me.” It was amused. It mocked him. 

Loki strode off into the snow pursued by its rumbling laughter, fought to keep the rage from his face. It _mocked_ him. How dare it defy him when only yesterday it had wept before him in despair of its own life. And yet, the very fact that it laughed so openly lent credence to its words. Coward and weaklings were only brave when triumph was assured.

So it speaks the truth, he thought to himself. Kill it. Kill it and take your chances alone. 

“You’re as good as dead, Asgardian," the creature called after him. “But teach me well and we might each survive a little longer.”

It dared throw Loki’s own words back in his face? 

He turned to find it watching him with the same satisfied smile that he had seen on its masters’ faces yesterday, that Laufey had worn when Loki had offered to guide him into Asgard. All of them thinking themselves the victors. These arrogant little _ants_.

“Very well,” he breathed. He strode back toward it, aware that no semblance of calm remained on his face. Its smile deepened with each step Loki took, deep wrinkles forming at the corners of its eyes. Finally he stood before it. It bent over him, grinning. It was certain it had left him with no choice.

“Your first lesson,” he said. “Run.” 

The plain was suddenly filled with eight, ten, twenty projections of Loki’s form, each as solid and animated as though it were Loki himself. The runt’s eyes widened in panic, and it tore off through the snow, switching back and forth like a hare. Loki could never have hoped to match its speed, but he needn’t try. No matter which direction the runt fled another projection of Loki appeared before it, pointing, mocking, blocking it at every turn. 

Finally it drew up short with a moan of horror and dropped to its knees before the closest phantasm, cowering with its hands over its face. Loki strolled over to stand before it and then dispelled the illusions. The echoes of his simulacra’s laughter hung in the air for a moment, and then all was silent save for the runt’s desperate, gasping breaths. 

“Your second lesson,” he snarled, dropping to one knee before it. He grasped it roughly at the base of the skull and forced its head up to look at him. “Do not ever presume to defy me.”

“Ahh,” the creature moaned, eyes rolling. 

"What’s this? Fear?” He cocked his head, gave it his most wide-eyed expression of pleasant malice. “You have no time for fear. In fact, you have very little time at all to decide whether you wish to die before you lead me from this place, or after.” 

“After,” it panted. “Please, after.” 

Now the smile of satisfaction was Loki’s to wear. “Well spoken. Although make no mistake, you will die for your disobedience today.

“If only you had your masters to protect you,” he mocked. “Five, ten frost giants who actually knew how to fight _might_ stand some small chance of defeating me. But learn this lesson well. You stand none." 

Something flickered in the runt's eyes, and was quickly concealed. There. He had planted the seed.

More skilled by far in masking his thoughts than the monster cowering before him, Loki let no indication of his intentions show on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

The runt was well and truly cowed. It led Loki across the plain with bowed head, arms clutched protectively across its chest. It was careful to keep its face turned away from him. He thought it might once more be weeping as they set out, seemingly in a random direction. But slowly what had at first appeared to be a bank of clouds lying low against the horizon resolved itself into a series of peaks.

The sight gladdened Loki’s heart. He had expended far too much energy summoning forth those illusions. It took time to recover from such major acts of magic even under the best conditions. Chilled to the bone, hungry, and exhausted from his ordeal, he could not hope to attempt another such feat any time soon. To be sure, the mountains were as forbidding in appearance as anything in the realm, but a plan was steadily forming in his mind as they walked. If all occurred as he intended, he need not go to such wasted effort again.

The peaks loomed steadily larger. Yet distances proved deceiving in the clear frigid air and they seemed to be drawing no closer to the range no matter how many times Loki forced one foot down in front of the other. Hours passed. Eventually he was too exhausted to continue.

"Runt," he commanded, "Stop.” It took effort to form the words in the thin air.

The creature halted as bidden, and turned, but it did not meet his eyes.

"We rest here," he said. At his words, the runt dropped into a crouch and wrapped its arms about its knees. It fixed its gaze on the horizon, eyes unblinking. 

"Did I give you leave to sit?" Loki demanded. The creature’s expression did not change. It merely rose back to its feet and said nothing. Loki ordered it to fashion a shelter for him from the snow and watched as it did his bidding with leaden, resentful movements. Its fingers splaying and twitching, it began bending and shaping snow and ice into a low mound with a slight depression in one side where Loki might lie down.

Eventually it dropped its arms to its sides and stood in sullen silence. Seeing that it had finished, Loki crossed the snow on weary legs and dropped into the hollow, curling up tightly to stay the shivering in his limbs. He did not attempt to cast the charm of warmth. He was too fatigued to sustain it. 

The runt was still on its feet, evidently awaiting leave from Loki to sit once more. He noted with satisfaction that it watched him closely. Good. It would see that he was exhausted, and it would not be difficult to make it believe that he was far more tired than he was. He commanded it to take the watch, then shut his eyes, ears peeled for any sound of its movements. 

He woke with a start, cursing himself silently, but viciously. He had never intended to fall asleep, and now all might be ruined. Snow had fallen, not much, but enough to cover the footsteps they’d left as they moved about the area. 

Loki’s eyes swept the plain, knowing that no sign of the runt’s tracks would remain but looking nonetheless. Yet as if to defy all belief, there was the creature itself. It too now huddled in a low depression scooped from ice and snow, but it was there. It saw Loki take note of the shelter it had built for itself, and its eyes dared him to forbid it that comfort too.

So he said only, “I commanded you to take the watch. I hope you did not sleep instead.”

Its lip curled. “I did not.”

Loki rose and gestured to the peaks with his chin. Wordlessly, the beast stood and they struck off once more. Loki fell in behind it, taking care that it did not see the smile on his face. His plan was yet intact. He had trod this thin line carefully. The runt would no longer challenge him openly, but a spark of disobedience yet remained within it. 

Once more, they marched until Loki was too tired to continue. He had watched the creature carefully during their trek, had seen how its gaze had flitted, twice, just barely, toward a location some leagues off from the ridge toward which it was clearly leading them. 

Again, the runt prepared his resting place and again he lay down in it, but this time he did not sleep. Lips slightly parted and arm flung over his eyes as if to block out the faint light, Loki slowed his breathing until each inhale and exhale was long and deep. All the while, he listened intently for the slightest sound from where the runt sat huddled in the snow. 

He waited. He waited longer than he had thought possible. Eventually there it was: a slight crackle of ice as the creature shifted position. And then, nothing. 

Loki was impressed, however begrudgingly. He was finding it difficult to contain his own anticipation—how much more so the runt? It must be nearly sick by now with the urge to act. And yet still it waited. Its caution was admirable, although fruitless.

Finally it happened. Snow crunched softly as the runt rose slowly to its feet. Loki’s heart hammered as he marked the sound of the creature’s footfalls moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, away. He ignored every instinct that clamored for him to open his eyes and give chase. Eventually, he could no longer hear the runt moving at all. And he continued to wait.

When he could bear it no longer he opened his eyes and set off in pursuit, knowing the seed he had planted while the runt cowered at his feet was about to bear fruit. Thinking Loki would never imagine it might attempt to escape, it had waited till it thought him soundly asleep, and fled. Whether it intended merely for Loki to die of exposure where he lay or whether it hoped to bring a host of Jotun down upon him as Loki himself had suggested it might, it was surely fleeing to its fellow monsters. And it would lead Loki directly to them.

It had done a careful job of disguising its tracks, especially as it must have been in a state of utter panic fearing that Loki would wake before it made good its escape. Had Loki not carefully marked the direction in which it had looked those two brief moments, he might never have picked up its trail at all. Indeed, it had taken care to disguise its passage for a far greater distance than he had anticipated that it would, and on several occasions he wondered if he would lose its tracks entirely, so carefully did it cover them.

But eventually its desire to widen the distance between itself and its captor triumphed over the instinct for caution, and it fled singlemindedly, leaving a clear trail of deep footprints behind it as it ran. Even so, it would still be a near thing. The runt could move quickly across the snow where Loki could not. The going became more difficult as he tracked it into the foothills, slowing him yet further. The plain had been horrible in its monotonous flatness, but thankfully dry and clear. Now the snow and wind returned full force as Loki reached the base of the peaks. He stumbled through the driving wind as best he could with his hands tucked under his arms for warmth. 

Loki followed the creature’s tracks as they began climbing up a rocky slope. They switched back and forth across the incline, at times so steep and narrow Loki could hardly believe the runt followed any set route at all. Finally, at the top of the fourth or fifth wall of ice—Loki no longer cared to count—he emerged onto an actual path. Cut in to the sheer mountainside, it was barely large enough for a man to edge along sideways, let alone a Jotun, but a path it was nonetheless. The plain from which he’d ascended was now so far below that even Loki’s sharp gaze could not pierce the gloom to its floor. He moved even more slowly now, taking care lest the strong wind blow him from the face of the cliff. 

His back to the mountainside, Loki edged around a tumble of ice and rock, and then looked up to find himself in the Jotun settlement that was surely the runt’s destination.

If it could be called such, he thought, looking about with barely concealed disgust. That some tiny hall had once stood here was clear from the long fluted columns of ice that occupied most of the small clearing in which he stood. Yet most of the columns were tumbled and broken, and while several hovels had been built from the debris where the ruins would shelter them from the wind, it was clear that the Jotun had made no effort to raise the hall anew. 

Loki sneered. _This_ is what he had come to rule? These beasts should thank him for bothering at all.

At his approach the camp's inhabitants—all of six Jotun—emerged from the hovels and spread about the clearing, forming a half-ring that boxed Loki back in toward the cliff face. Ice crackled as it formed blades and cudgels along their arms. 

One of the Jotun snarled, turned, and hauled forth the runt from a pile of ice and debris. It stumbled through the snow, hands clawing at the creature’s grip on its arm before the Jotun sent it sprawling into the snow at its feet.

Loki lifted his arms, palms up and fingers spread, and smiled magnanimously at them. "Friends," he said. "There is no need to threaten. For I come here not as your enemy, but as your king."

The nearest Jotun laughed openly at his words, a low, spiny cackle that seemed to galvanize the others. They moved forward as one, legs akimbo and weight shifting from foot to foot as they readied themselves to attack. 

Their clothing was mean, even by the meager standards of their race: mere rags of soiled, uncured rawhide held about their waists with twine. They lacked even the basic adornment worn by most every frost giant Loki had yet encountered. Gazing at them, he couldn’t help but feel cheated. These lowly things were to be his first true subjects?

No matter. His army would increase in size soon enough. This was but the first step.

For the briefest of moments, no one spoke. Loki saw the runt looking frantically back and forth between him and the frost giants, arms half raised to its head as if to shield itself from both. It did not know which to fear more. Feeling his gaze upon it, it looked him full in the face. He relished the look in its eyes at it realized the trap he had sprung on it.

The frost giants reacted exactly as Loki had hoped they would. The tallest Jotun among their number spoke first. "Scum," it said in a hollow, rasping voice. "You come back alone, empty handed and promising to lead us to something a great prize. But you have brought Asgard down upon our heads instead.”

Loki held the runt’s gaze a moment longer, let it see the amusement in his eyes, the mocking twitch to his lips. Then he turned and addressed the Jotun leader directly.

“Perhaps you did not hear me—“ he began.

The Jotun sneered, lips drawing back to reveal a mouthful of icicle teeth. "I did not address you, _Asgardian._ ” It spat the word like an insult. “If you value your life, do not speak to me again until I tell you to."

"Oh," said Loki softly. "You should not have said that." Tired and cold though he was, the opportunity to teach these monsters their proper place beneath him was invigorating. He raised his hands and sent a blast of force toward the Jotun that knocked it onto its back and sent it skidding across the ice. It collided against a broken pillar with brutal force. Another quick blast knocked it back down as it rose to attack again.

Hands raised and at the ready, Loki advanced on the five remaining Jotun. Their loyalty to their leader clearly did not extend to throwing down their own lives to protect it, and they backed away as Loki strode toward where it lay sprawled in the snow. The runt had scrambled to its feet and circled behind Loki. He marked its movements carefully though he kept his eyes fixed on the Jotun before him.

“Perhaps you did not hear me,” he began again, voice soft and deadly. “I am Loki, your king.”

“King?” sneered one of the other frost giants, twice Loki’s height with long, icy scars running down its muscled arms. “You look like little more than a lone Asgardian to me, and a puny one at that.”

With a precise flick of his wrist, Loki sent a whip of purple fire arcing toward it to cleave a long gash from its torso to its forehead. Its body crumpled to the earth with a jarring thud. The remaining Jotun stepped back reflexively. Behind him the runt moaned in dismay.

“I am your king!” His voice was no longer soft. “Defy me and die. Bow to me and survive.” He raised his eyebrows, as if waiting, and was gratified as one by one the frost giants lowered themselves to the ground on bended knee.

He let his gaze roam over each of them before coming to rest on their leader, still sprawled in the snow at his feet. It snarled, lips drawing back over its vicious teeth before finally averting its eyes.

“It is really quite simple. Accept me as your king, and live.” He was smiling once more, a smile that felt cold even to him. “Do not fear. To those who, like you, have chosen wisely, I shall give a glorious kingdom.”

Loki paused to let his words sink in. The four Jotun were looking now at their leader, waiting for its reaction. It stared at Loki with rage in its eyes. “Kingdom?” it said at last. “ _You_ think you can rule this realm?”

“Oh yes,” he said smoothly. “Place your loyalty in me, and I shall reward you handsomely. Take, for instance, your friend over there.” At last Loki turned to look over his shoulder at the runt, which had been steadily creeping toward the entrance to the clearing while Loki dealt with the other Jotun. A shudder ran through it as it felt Loki’s gaze on its back. It rose from its crouch and walked slowly back toward Loki without needing to be ordered. Three days ago he had told it that the punishment for disobedience was death, and it had been caught trying to escape him twice since. There could be little doubt in its mind what fate awaited it now. 

Loki watched it approach in silence. He waited with easy patience for it to reach his side, then nodded at it before turning back to the frost giants as if to say, see? Fear and confusion rolled off the runt in waves. It had expected to be slain immediately as an example to the others. It could not understand why it had not.

Oh, he was enjoying this. Loki place a proprietary hand on its shoulder, flinching slightly at the shock of cold that lanced up his palm. “I bid him lead me to you and he did so without hesitation,” he said. The runt gaped at him, so shocked by the lie it was unable to summon a denial. “He was once a slave among you. But for this act of loyalty, he has now become _your_ master.”

He turned to the runt and tipped his head toward the hovels. “Go find something suitable,” he commanded, “and bind them with it.”

“He would not dare,” the leader hissed, half rising to his feet.

“Oh, I believe he would,” answered Loki without bothering to take his eyes from the runt. “In fact, I believe he would even kill you, should I tell him to.” The Jotun sneered and laughed in disbelief, but Loki’s threat was not lost on the runt. It stared at him with hatred in its eyes before moving off toward the shelters in search of chain or rope.

Loki wondered what lies it must have told the frost giants to explain away the absence of its masters. For it had clearly said nothing to these Jotun of what had become of the frost giants it had once served, let alone the hand it had played in their demise. Loki congratulated himself for having the foresight to orchestrate such an act, one that he could hold over the creature’s shoulders as he did now. Even now, surrounded as it was by its own kind, it would do his bidding lest he tell the Jotun it had slain one of its own. The frost giants were hardly more than animals, but a slave was a slave no matter the race. And a slave that raised its hand against its own masters knew well what end it could expect to meet whatever realm it inhabited.

Loki kept careful watch over the Jotun until the runt returned, a length of ragged cord in its hands. He bade it bind the frost giants where they knelt in the snow. It obeyed reluctantly, tying their hands behind their backs and looping the rope about the neck of each before moving on to the next. He strode along behind it, checking its work and enspelling each knot so that it would hold far beyond the strength of the rope itself. It was far from an ideal solution—he would need to regularly renew the charms—but it would do until he determined how to best tame his new subjects.

The runt finished tying the last knot and then stood, face turned away from its erstwhile captives. The look of pure hatred in the eyes of the Jotun as it had bound them was a thing to be savored. They would be much more easily handled now that Loki no longer bore the entire brunt of their rage and hatred. Even should one of their number manage to free itself, it was as likely to attack the runt as him. By the same token, the runt now had as much to fear from its fellow Jotun as it did from Loki. Indeed, having completed its work, it had immediately moved to stand in the shelter of Loki’s shadow. 

If it truly wanted to be taken under his wing, who was he to deny it the protection it so obviously craved? “You have done well today,” he told the runt and watched it flinch in response. It feared his kindness now more than his anger. He was enjoying this. He swept his hand toward the largest and best-constructed hovel. “Go. Sleep.” Oh, he _was_ enjoying this indeed.

A frisson of anger passed through the bound Jotun. The runt looked at him in disbelief. “You do not wish me to take the watch?” it asked in a low voice.

Loki merely looked at the frost giants huddled at their feet and arched a brow. “Of course not.”

Knowing itself defeated, the runt turned and headed toward the hovel without protest. Denied any chance to plead its case before its own kind free of Loki’s watch, it doubtlessly planned to steal what sleep it could since he had given it the chance. Loki knew that it would find none.

He knew that he would find none either. His triumph over this first band of Jotun had washed away the exhaustion of the preceding days’ ordeals. Satisfaction filled him and imbued him with new energy. His mind was focused and alert for the first time in days. With nothing better to do he wandered over to the closest of the shelters and poked his head inside. One of the frost giants began to raise its voice in protest but was quickly quieted by another, obviously wiser, member of its number. 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The hovel’s interior was as mean as its surroundings suggested it would be: a pile of ragged hides and a few pieces of rusting weaponry that must have been scavenged from a warrior of Asgard centuries ago. Unimpressed, Loki moved to the next shelter, and all the others in turn. The content of each was much the same.

Having finished his inspection he returned to the center of the clearing and the Jotun bound and huddled within. Choosing a place against one of the broken pillars, he slumped against it and regarded his captives. They regarded him in turn.

Their leader was awake, as was the frost giant to his left. It was shorter than the leader by a head, but much broader at the shoulders with a neck like a bull’s. The two regarded him in silence, red eyes unblinking. He returned their stares with studied unconcern, drew a dagger from a hidden place in his vest and began to clean grime from his nails with its tip. One of the monsters snorted. 

The silence stretched on. Loki surreptitiously observed the creatures in between finishing with each finger. Two of the beasts had their backs to him and were shielded from view by the others. Of the remaining three, the leader and its lieutenant were wakeful but silent. The beast to their right slept, its head slumped against one of its fellows. But its wrists and neck were dark purple and chaffed where they met the rope. It had struggled, attempted to escape, and discovered that it could not. Good. It had done exactly as he intended while he explored the hovels, and learned precisely what he had meant it to.

Some time passed. Eventually one of the monsters in the back stirred, turned its head toward the others. “My lord,” it said in a low voice.

Loki rose, grinning into the gloom. His footfalls crunched in the snow as he circled round the clearing to stand before it. “Yes?” he asked pleasantly. 

The monster looked at him, confusion on its stupid features. Its jaw set, its eyes narrowed, and it made as if to rise to its feet. The leader turned around and hissed at it. It bit off whatever reply it had been contemplating and subsided. 

Still Loki stood. “I’m waiting,” he prompted. He paused, drew in a sharp breath and blinked as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Or perhaps you meant to address someone else? Although, there’s only one lord here, is there not?’” 

The frost giant glared at Loki, nostrils flaring. “I asked you a question.” His voice rang in the crisp air.

The beast actually had the temerity to seek guidance from the Jotun leader before responding, turning to it with an expression that begged to be given leave to attack. Loki marked this well and vowed to teach it its place as soon as the opportunity presented itself. For its part, the leader nodded once, slowly, then turned its gaze to Loki. The challenger followed suit. 

“No,” it said at last.

“No…?”

“No… _my lord_.”

Loki took two steps toward it so they were eye to eye. At this distance, he need not crouch to bring them face to face, even though the beast sat bound in the snow. “Good. I am glad we could come to this understanding without further…instruction.”

It strained against its bonds, teeth bared. Loki watched with folded arms. One further word of protest and he would have taught the monster a lesson it would not soon have forgotten. But the beast retreated of its own accord. The tension drained from its arms and it settled once more into the snow. “It is time to rest,” it said at last, with far less anger in its voice. “Sleep. I will keep the watch well.”

It took a moment before Loki realized it was speaking to its leader—the one it had addressed as lord—and not him. The Jotun to the leader’s right was awake now as well, eyes open and staring into the distance, though it had not raised its head from its neighbor’s shoulder. So the creatures were keeping watch over him, and doing so by turns to conserve their strength.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Loki said as if the monster had addressed him, just to needle it further. He held its gaze a moment longer, then returned to his seat on the broken pillar. He would not sleep tonight, but he wished for the privacy of the shadows from which to keep his own watch. He considered casting the charm of warmth but decided against it. The cold was no less brutal, but he had grown so accustomed to it it seemed a wasted effort. Besides, there were the charms on the knots to maintain.

He crossed his arms and turned his gaze to the empty black sky. It was snowing heavily, though most of the flakes blew away in the wind that poured over the rim of the clearing before ever reaching its floor. Somewhere on the other side of those clouds lay the Chitauri, Midgard, the Allfather on the golden throne of Asgard with his lapdog of a son licking his boots. Loki’s lips curled. _Do you see me now, Thor? And will you come with your precious companions to ‘save’ these monsters from me too?_

But of course Thor did not. Thor, the Allfather, Frigga, the palace guard, and all their loyal buffoons all thought him safely locked away in the bowels of Asgard. Heimdall would not even know to look for him here. 

And anyway, they were doubtlessly still hard at work rebuilding the Bifrost so Thor might return to earth and undo all that Loki had wrought there. And when that was complete Thor might even take the rainbow bridge across the cosmos to pacify the Chitauri once and for all. It was just the sort of noble—and foolish and pointless—task Thor loved. 

And while they wasted their time on their fools’ errands, Loki would be here, ruling his kingdom of ice.


	4. Chapter 4

Caught up in his thoughts, Loki did not mark the passage of time. His mind seethed with memories and the need to right the wrongs that had been done to him. He formulated and discarded one plan, and then another, and another. None of them were any good. None of them would bring him any closer to what he wanted.

The problem was Thor. It had always been Thor. Thor, who’d been handed a kingdom and the blind adoration of the masses merely for having been born the first son— _the_ son. Thor, who had never had to work for any of it and deserved none of it. And he, Loki, for all his gifts, what did he have? A dead realm and five frost giants over which to rule. It sickened him. 

The Jotun were awake now; he could feel their eyes upon him. He paid them little mind. They were his subjects. Let them wait until he felt like dealing with them.

Still, no matter how many corridors he chased his thoughts down, he was unable to force them into anything resembling a satisfactory solution. Disgusted, he gave up at last and glared at the frost giants with eyebrows raised. “Was there something you wanted?” he demanded.

The Jotun looked as one to their leader, who looked at him. “A new day dawns.”

“Does it.” Loki looked pointedly at the sky. “I couldn’t tell.”

The leader gave him a knowing look, but said nothing. Loki pushed himself off from the column and approached them slowly. His muscles protested each step, stiff from the cold and lack of movement. 

The runt had emerged from the hovel at the sound of his voice and now stood half hidden in the doorway. Its eyes were pinched and hunted. Smiling, Loki walked past the frost giants without sparing them a second glance and went to stand beside it. _That’s right. You are too frightened of them to pretend I’m not your ally and too terrified of me to tell them I am not._

“A new day dawns. Or so I’m told,” Loki said to it. He dropped his voice to an intimate tone. “Can you imagine what I would like to do with it first?”

The runt swallowed and shook its head. Oh, this was too much fun. Loki paused to let it imagine what terrors it would, then said, “I wish to break my fast.” He had intended to throw the runt off guard, but his non sequitor did not seem to confuse it. If anything, it appeared even more frightened by the statement than when envisioning the tortures he might visit upon it.

He chuckled. “Is that so unreasonable?”

The runt swallowed again. It turned to the other frost giants, as if for support, but found none there. Loki regarded it with narrowed eyes. “We have nothing,” it said finally in a small voice.

“Nothing?” he repeated, incredulous. The runt nodded. 

No food at all? But then, it might actually be true. Loki had seen none in any in any of the hovels, although perhaps the Jotun were concealing their stores somewhere else? Well, if that was the game they wished to play, he would gladly follow along. They would soon discover who played it best.

“Nothing. Not a thing to eat at all. How fortunate,” he said, turning from the runt to the Jotun leader, “that I came to your aid when I did.” He continued, with narrowed eyes, “And how pitiable that the creature that claimed to be your _lord_ can’t even provide something so trivial to his followers. Or did you not care at all if they starved?”

The Jotun leader regarded him evenly, its expression inscrutable. “You do not know of what you speak, Asgardian. True, we lack food now. But ten days ago, twenty warriors left to acquire it. None returned.”

Its intimation was clear. Loki wondered when it had first begun to suspect he had killed them. Perhaps when the runt had returned to the encampment, alone? It had told the Jotun it could lead them to something of “of great value”…it wasn’t difficult to guess what assumption they’d made. And then they would have had every reason to suspect treachery when Loki arrived in their village on its heels. He wondered how their suspicions could best be put to use. 

But he let no sign of these thoughts make its way to his face. He said only, “Oh? They must have faced a fearsome foe indeed, if twenty fell. That is, if they were truly the warriors you claim they were.”

Anger flared across the faces of most of the Jotun, but their leader did not follow suit. Instead, it smiled. “Yes,” it said. “They must have been formidable indeed, to defeat so many raiders.” 

Loki blinked. Raiders? When the leader spoke of a score of warriors setting out, he had envisioned a hunting party. It had not occurred to him that these frost giants would stoop to stealing _food_ from other Jotun. So these were brigands then? Lowly thieves that hid in the mountains and preyed on their own like leeches? Pitiful. Although, it would explain why the frost giants had been lying in wait in the valley when he first encountered them. That trap had not been laid to snare him at all.

But they had tried to snare him all the same and he had slain them. And this Jotun, a mere leader of bandits, dared pretend it thought that other frost giants, not Loki, had been responsible? It rankled. He composed his face into a mask of polite incredulity and said, “Formidable? Oh, I don’t think so. After all, your warriors fell to a man while their slave somehow managed to survive.”

There. Let it chew on that.

But the leader was still regarding him with that satisfied smile on its face. It continued to ignore the bait he had thrown before it. “They may have tried and perished,” it said slowly. “You have not tried at all.” The smile widened. “Are you scared, Asgardian?”

Loki crossed his arms and laughed as if with good cheer. He need not take the bait either. “Friends. The day is yet young.” If this petty lordling wanted him to try, who was he to not oblige? And when he succeeded where it had failed, its followers would have no choice but to acknowledge his superiority. More to the point, these Jotun were apparently willing to fight and steal from their own kind. So long as he kept them happily occupied killing other frost giants, they would hardly turn their bloodlust on him.

It would be good to fight again. It would be even better to make others do his fighting for him. After all, that was what it meant to rule. Loki motioned for the runt to follow him and crossed the clearing to stand before the frost giants. Bending down, he untied the knot that bound the two ends of the rope together and handed one end to the runt. “Take charge of your slaves,” he bade it casually. It accepted the rope reluctantly.

Loki circled round the giants to face their leader, ignoring the sneer of the creature that had challenged him the night before. “Rise,” he commanded, “all of you.” The giants stood.

“This other band of Jotun, the ones whose stores you planned to steal—ah, consider your position carefully before you speak,” he cautioned the thick-necked lieutenant before it could protest his choice of words. “Where are they?”

“Have you had a change of heart?” the leader drawled in its low, gravelly voice.

Loki spared it a brief sneer. “Hardly.” He paused and added, “I have always intended to provide for you. After all, I am your king.

“I ask again—where are they?”

The leader grimaced wickedly, exposing its sharp, icy teeth. “They shelter in a deep valley, three days’ march from here.” To a creature, the runt and the other frost giants gaped at it, shock and disbelief plain on their features. Loki snorted. They had sent their own marauders off to attack this selfsame band of Jotun not a fortnight before. Why should they care now that their leader betrayed their location to him?

Ultimately, it mattered little. Now he had a goal to work toward. It was time to act. Loki nodded in satisfaction, turned, and set off toward the entrance to the clearing.

“Three days’ march for us. With an Asgardian in tow, the journey will take twice as long, if not more.”

Loki was upon the leader in an instant, dagger out and flashing across its chest. The monster recoiled, snarling, the long, wicked slice across its chest weeping ice water. Loki followed as it backpedaled, the tip of his blade raised to the point where neck and chin met. “I am king here,” he snapped. “I lead, and you do not question or comment. Do not make me remind you again.”

The creature hissed, but said nothing. Loki met the gaze of each Jotun in turn until they dropped their eyes, then turned and addressed the runt.

“This valley. You know where it is?” It nodded.

“Take the lead. We march.”

The muscles in its jaw clenched, but it nodded, and set off. Loki noted the sidelong glance it cast at the leader as it tugged the line of Jotun toward the mouth of the clearing and wondered briefly at its sudden concern for this other band of frost giants.

Bound as they were, and of differing heights and builds, it took a few moments for the frost giants to find their footing as they set off. Loki waited until they reached the mouth of the clearing, then spoke again. “Oh. One thing, before we go. Get rid of this.” He gestured to where the body of the Jotun he’d slain the day before still lay crumpled on the ground. A light blanket of snow had fallen over it during the night. Its frozen eyes gleamed dully beneath the frost, staring at nothing. 

The frost giants turned as one to look at it. “This is no place to bury the dead,” the lieutenant said at last in a low voice.

“Bury?” He turned to it in surprise, snorted. “Who said anything of burial?” The frost giants had gone very still. He regarded them with raised brows. Pointing toward the entrance to the clearing and the cliffs that lay beyond, he said, “Pick it up and dump it over the edge.”

For a moment he thought the beasts would charge him, bound and hobbled though they were. Even the runt stared at him with shock on its features. But in the end, the leader merely drew a long breath. “Do as the Asgardian says,” it told the others, then set its mouth in a grim line.

The frost giants obeyed and began to carefully work the corpse free from the snow. Loki watched with growing irritation. “We don’t have all day,” he snapped. Two of the smaller Jotun flinched and the brawler’s face twisted into an ugly snarl. The leader was as impassive as ever. They began to work at the corpse less gently, and it came free of the ice with several loud cracks. Loki would have been content to drag it, but the Jotun picked it up and carried it to the lip of the cliff before setting it down and rolling it carefully over the side. 

The corpse tumbled down the cliff toward the valley below with a series of reverberating cracks, taking showers of snow and chunks of ice with it as it fell. The Jotun stood motionless as the sounds of its descent grew fainter. Loki let them stand. He wanted them to reflect long and hard on what would happen to any of their number that challenged him.

When the sounds of the corpse’s fall could be heard no more, he caught the runt’s eye and said, “We go.” A frisson ran up and down the line of Jotun, but Loki paid it little heed. They might be upset with what had just transpired, but it was only a single dead frost giant. They would soon forget entirely once their attention turned to the upcoming battle with the other Jotun.

The wind and driving snow returned full force once they left the protective mouth of the clearing. Loki’s attention was devoted once more to picking his way carefully across the narrow footpath. He did not find it easy going, but even large and bound though they were, the frost giants had little difficulty moving along the narrow ledge. Loki had wondered briefly as they set out whether he shouldn’t undo their bonds; after all, if one of the creatures misstepped it would take all the others with it into the defile. But he saw now that his concern had been unfounded. He was in much greater danger of plunging over the ledge than they. The leader spoke the truth when he said Loki’s presence would slow the pace of their journey. It displeased him greatly.

Eventually the path turned back into the heart of the peaks. Here they were largely protected from the wind and ice, although the occasional blasts of freezing air that did make their way into the pass were even more treacherous than those that had blown across the exposed cliffs. 

Still, Loki was glad of the respite. Exhaustion was slowly overtaking him once more. He had not slept in two days and would likely need to do so soon. Even the frost giants were beginning to stumble as they moved along. Now that he had spent so much time in the company of the creatures, Loki was beginning to recognize the signs of fatigue and exhaustion among them as well. And if it was true that they were starving, he did not know how long he could force them to continue on before he ran them into the ground to the point of uselessness.

So when they made their way around a sharp outcropping of rock into a protected nook in the cliff face, he called a halt. He stalked past the line of Jotun and into the shelter of the rock walls. “Stand, sit, or sleep, I care not,” he told them. He jerked his head toward the runt. “You, stand watch.” He did not bother to specify against what. He knew where the dice would fall next. He was prepared.

He curled tightly into the crevice and shut his eyes. Fatigue and cold attacked immediately. But curiosity and anticipation were stronger, as Loki needed them to be. He knew the attack would come. The runt was the cleverest among these monsters and he had already driven a wedge between it and them; he need not concern himself with its wiles. What remained now was to see what the rest would attempt.

Moments passed while Loki feigned sleep. He had thought to listen for whispered conversation among the beasts, but the roar of the wind made that impossible, even muted though it was by the protective walls of rock. He cracked open his eyes, wondering if he shouldn’t continue the march after all, and smiled. A sheet of ice covered the dark rock wall before him. The frost giants were reflected hazily in its surface. 

He marked their movements carefully through slitted eyes. The giants stood in a line where he had left them on the narrow path. The runt had its back to him. It was guarding him from the others. So it still feared their wrath more than his. That was as it should be. It was shaking, as if with cold.

No. Not cold. Not a frost giant. With fear. The creature’s tremors grew more pronounced. Loki’s eyes widened. The Jotun at the end of the line sprang, backhanding the runt into the cliff face as it charged toward Loki. The runt’s head slammed against the rock with a vicious crack and it crumpled to the ground, moaning.

Loki had no time to react. Neither did the other Jotun. They tumbled after it, tripping over their own legs, the rope, their neighbors’ limbs. The attacker’s momentum carried it forward, its fist arcing into Loki’s brow with a force that nearly struck his head from his shoulders. He staggered back into the hollow and collapsed. 

The attacker surged forward with a snarl of triumph, still dragging the line of Jotun behind it. Loki pulled himself to his feet but immediately crumpled back to the ground on unsteady legs. His head swam. His fingers moved instinctively to summon a weapon, a spell of protection, but he knew he would not be fast enough.

The runt too was struggling to its feet. The attacker leapt over it but the Jotun behind him was unprepared to jump. The runt’s body clipped it at the shins and it tumbled forward, bringing them both to the ground. The attacker had its hands around Loki’s throat. It picked him up and shook him like a hound worrying its catch. His head slammed him into the rock. He felt blood spray from the back of his skull. He could see nothing. 

The Jotun dropped him to the ground and though the blow stunned him further, Loki rolled away as quickly as he was able. His brain sought to make sense of the confusion around him—voices shouting, the sound of hands and feet scrabbling, his attacker howling in frustration and anger. 

Gritting his teeth he stood and forced himself to focus, though the world swam sickeningly around him. His life depended on it.

What he saw was the runt, lying once more on the ground, curled up and moaning. No, not curled up. Straining. Pulling. One of the frost giants had fallen over the cliff, just as Loki had feared might happen at the start of their trek. It had taken three of its number with it and they now dangled over the defile, scrabbling for purchase as best they could with their hands bound and the knots at their throats choking off their breath.

Loki pulled himself along the rock wall, gasping through clenched teeth. Blood matted his hair and oozed into his eyes. His attacker—the brawler, the idiot that had thought to challege him last night— also dangled from the edge of the cliff. Indeed, only its counterbalancing weight and the quick thinking of the runt had prevented every last one of the monsters from tumbling over the edge.

Panting, Loki took tight hold of a boulder and leaned over the cliff, peering at it. It stared back with rage in its eyes.

“That,” he said in his deadliest whisper, “was not wise.”

He longed to make the beast feel the true cost of its defiance. He could make it painful. He could make it _last_. But in his current state, he could ill afford to take any more chances. 

“All of you,” he said, shook his head in disgust at the weak rasp he’d produced and tried again. “All of you. All of you!” he roared. “I am your king! Look well and know what happens to all who defy me.” He braced himself and severed the rope that bound the brawler to the Jotun beside it. It disappeared into the defile, howling curses at Loki as it fell. 

Counterweight gone, the three Jotun would have plunged to their deaths as well had the runt and the brawler’s neighbor not stopped them. The runt’s ankles were still tangled in the rope. Loki watched impassively as it clawed at the fibers, desperate to free itself before it too was dragged over the edge. But the weight of the other Jotun was simply too much. There was no way it could hope to pull free of the tangle.

The beast realized this too and changed tactics. Feet braced against a boulder, it grasped the rope and pulled, face contorted in fear and pain. Icy blood welled from its palms. Alone, its efforts would only have postponed the inevitable. But the brawler’s neighbor had managed to work its arms, still tied behind its back, around a small outcropping of rock and anchor itself to the ledge. It too braced itself and pulled. Slowly the two Jotun hauled the rest of their number to safety.

Loki leaned against the rock wall and watched them, fighting back waves of nausea. His head pounded and he could barely stand. Even so, he was upon them as soon as the final beast set foot on the ledge. A blade in each hand, he slashed viciously at whatever he could reach. The frost giants recoiled. Still bound, bruised and dazed from their fall, they could not defend themselves. He drove them back until they huddled on the ground at the base of the cliff, trying as best they could to shield themselves from his attack.

Loki slashed until the blind rage wore off. Disgusted, he dragged the runt free from the pile. Smaller by far than the other frost giants, it had managed to avoid the worst of his attack. It cowered at his feet. A fresh wave of rage arose in Loki at the sight.

“I free you from your servitude. I give you slaves of your own, and this is how you repay me?” he spat, voice barely more than a whisper. Pain lanced through his skull with each word. The runt trembled. 

“I tried to warn him—“

“Warn _him?_ ” Loki hissed.

“Warn him that he could not defeat you,” the runt continued quickly. 

“Ever the flatterer,” Loki breathed. “But your cleverness won’t save you now.”

“Scum.” The leader spoke over Loki’s next words. Loki rounded on it. “You dare open your mouth to me? One cut more,” he brandished his blade, “and you aren’t likely to survive the night.” He did not exaggerate. He had wounded it so grievously it had barely summoned the strength to speak.

But it continued on undaunted. “Scum. You thought to protect this monster?” 

“What would you have had me do?” the runt demanded. This time anger lurked beneath the familiar bitterness and helplessness in its voice.

They spoke as though Loki were not even there. “Enough!” he roared. “Protect? Warn? You have one duty: protect _me._ You have one obligation: warn _me_ when there is danger. You all failed. You are all responsible. And you will all pay the price for your failure.”

The leader turned his gaze from the runt at last. There was fire in its eyes. “Skumr acted alone,” it said. A muscle in its temple jumped. “We would not have attacked you here.”

“And yet I was attacked!” he roared. “And I will hear no more of you excuses.” He leapt upon the nearest Jotun. The monster flinched to avoid the blow, but Loki was not aiming for its flesh. His knife flashed, severing the rope that bound it to its neighbor. He caught it in the back of the knee with his shoulder as it tried to stagger away and heaved it over the edge of the cliff. It followed the brawler to its death on the rocks below, screaming as it fell. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he hissed. “that my patience is wearing thin. Should any of you challenge me again“— he pointed his dagger at each of the monsters in turn—“I will kill every beast responsible. And then I will kill one more, to demonstrate how little patience I have left.”

The monsters flinched at his words but were too injured and exhausted to react further. The runt, as ever, huddled by itself and did not react at all. None of them would threaten him any further tonight. Loki dropped his hand to his side and retreated into the crevice to nurse his anger and disgust.


	5. Chapter 5

He left the Jotun huddled in the snow where they’d fallen and retreated to the shelter of the crevice. Snow crunched as the runt tried to crawl as far from him as the narrow ledge allowed. “Oh no,” he told it softly. “You stay right where you are.”

It froze at his command and subsided back into the snow, arms wrapped tightly around its shins. The Jotun leader raised its head and regarded the runt for a moment. Loki stared at the lot of them, emotionlessly.

He’d been in this miserable realm for days now, and this was what he had to show for it? Three half-dead brigands and a frost giant runt. _This_ was the army he had at his command? They couldn’t conquer the realm. They couldn’t even stand against the frost giants they’d set out to raid.

A familiar, giddy wave ran through him, as it always did when he maneuvered his way out of the impossible. No, these Jotun could never hope to triumph over their foes. But he didn’t need them to. He only needed them to survive long enough to reach those foes. He already knew the beasts made slaves of their own kind. He would come to this new band of frost giants not to fight, but to deliver their enemies to them.

And once he had done so, he would have them at his disposal—strong, fed, rested, in his debt for the service he had done them. He had failed with these Jotun, who had opposed him since the first. But the new Jotun would see that he was a magnanimous king. 

Loki smiled at the thought and shut his eyes.

An entire day might have passed while he slept. He woke with a jolt, hand reaching for a blade before his eyes had fully opened. He needn’t have bothered. The frost giants had hardly moved from where he’d left them. 

The runt regarded him with its head on its knees, mouth curled in derision. It had not missed his display of fear. Loki let none of the scorn he felt in return show on his own face. Let the creature think itself superior. It would soon regret its mistake.

“The Asgardian wakes.” The lieutenant’s voice creaked like ice on a tree branch. It too had seen him wake, but its eyes were on its leader. The runt had put its head back to its knees, and did not look at any of them.

“Did I give you leave to speak?” Loki asked venomously.

“No, but does it matter?” The creature spoke flatly, as though the question were a statement of fact. “You can do little more to us now but kill us.”

His eyebrows quirked. “True enough.” Dropping into his softest whisper, he continued, “Give me one reason why I should not.”

“Because then you will have to fight on your own.” It was the Jotun leader that spoke now.

Loki didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “You can’t intend to continue. In the state you’re in? You’d be as good as dead.” Of course, continuing with his plans was precisely what he would compel the beasts to do. But surely they weren’t so stupid as to think they had any hope of surviving?

“The odds would have been better, Asgardian,” the creature hissed, “if you had not put us in this state.” Its red eyes flashed. 

“Oh, but I did.”

“Yes. You did,” it said. “And it will be worse for us the longer we are without food or rest. We are warriors.” Loki raised an eyebrow and it paused, only continuing after he’d schooled his face back into polite neutrality. “We do not shy from danger.”

A look passed between the chief and the other Jotun. Loki had seen the same resolve on the faces of the humans who’d challenged him on Midgard even as they knew they’d die in the attempt. His wasn’t sure whether the Jotuns’ false bravado or the terror on the runt’s face disgusted him more. 

He rose, gritting his teeth as his vision swam. It would be a pleasure to lead these beasts to their deaths. He smiled and swept his hand to toward the path. “Lead the way,” he said.

The Jotun moved woodenly down the path, their wounds oozing slush. Loki trailed a few paces behind, leaning heavily against the cliff face. Luckily, their way did not lead back toward the open cliffs. Wounded as he was, he did not trust himself to keep his footing in the blistering winds. 

The path entered a narrow defile that plunged deeper into icy rock. The going was tight enough that the Jotun had to turn sideways to advance. Drifts of ice and snow closed in overhead and the dim light of Jotunheim faded to almost nothing in the abyss. The creatures’ breathing echoed weirdly in the confined space. 

Something half-formed began to gnaw at the edges of Loki’s thoughts. At first he thought it only the eerie silence of the passageway after so many days spent with the wind’s constant howl. But no, it was not merely that, for the Jotun felt it as well. He could sense it. 

A sheet of ice and rock collapsed somewhere far above with the faint sound of shattering glass. The runt whimpered. Typical. But had that been a hitch in the leader’s breath? It too was on edge. But why? Because its death drew nearer? That in itself was not surprising. He’d often seen “brave” men’s bravado leech away the closer they came to their ends. 

But by now he knew what the fear of death looked like on a frost giant’s face. He had seen it only last night. The beasts were agitated, and wary. But they were not afraid, not like they had been last night. No, what he sensed in them was not only fear, but excitement.

Loki smiled into the darkness. He had—almost—underestimated them. If the gift of four enemy Jotun to enslave made a pretty present, so would the gift of an Asgardian. The beasts intended to trade him to rivals just as he intended to use them. What a pity for them that he was clever enough to realize it while they had no idea of his true intentions. All he needed to do was make sure he was in a position to make his offer before they made theirs. But he would deal with that situation once it arose. 

In the meantime, he must keep the beasts distracted.

Pushing off from the rock wall he stalked forward and seized the runt’s arm. Caught unawares, it swung round too quickly and lost its balance. It tumbled backwards, taking the second Jotun to the ground with it. The beast swore and snarled at the runt. The leader, Loki noted, had dropped into a crouch at the runt’s first bark of terror. The familiar blades of ice had formed over its arms, though hairline cracks ran through them wherever they met the icy welts of its injuries. 

“Put those away,” Loki said softly. “You have no enemies here.” 

“And yet, two Jotun lie on the ground.” The leader’s eyes took in their surroundings. “Do you wish me to believe they lost their footing on the ice?” Its smile dared him to say he did.

“Oh, but they must have.” Loki’s smile dared the creature to gainsay him. Then it flashed from his face. “I grow weary of this,” he snapped. “Tell me, are we going to march through this tunnel until the end of days, or are we actually going somewhere?”

The Jotun smiled still. “We are.”

“Then how much longer until we arrive?” he hissed. The runt paused, half risen to its feet, at Loki’s words and turned toward its leader. 

“We will soon reach the end of this way through the mountains,” the leader said slowly. Its voice was flat, but Loki could see from the runt’s expression that it did not lie. “A plain lies at the mouth of the passage, and beyond it, the others.”

“Mm,” said Loki, and considered. It was a location wisely chosen. The long, narrow tunnel would make it nearly impossible for invaders to mount an attack in any large number, and the exposed terrain difficult for any who passed through the tunnel to approach the camp unseen. But, perhaps that was to their advantage after all. For five could evade detection more easily than an army, and the sunless skies of Jotunheim meant that there were no periods of twilight or dawn when an attack might be expected and the watch heightened. Surely an approach so well protected would not be constantly watched. 

He said as much to the leader. It merely lifted its eyebrows in response, neither confirming nor denying Loki’s observation. Just as he’d thought, it intended some kind of trickery. He held its gaze evenly. “Then let us waste no more time” he said.

The way began to slant gradually upward. They surely drew near to the surface, for their way was more exposed to the elements and fresh drifts of snow began to replace the bare ice and rock of the walls and floor. The ceiling had collapsed in one or two places along their ascent, forcing them to slide along the tunnel on their bellies like worms. Loki thought he would never be happier to see the barren wastes of Jotunheim as he pulled himself along in the runt’s wake, biting back grunts of pain as his bruised ribs and limbs scraped over the rock.

And then suddenly the walls fell away on either side and Loki could tell from the hollow thudding echoes of the frost giants’ footsteps as they clambered to their feet in front of him that they were in a massive crevice in the rock. He kept close on the runt’s heels; he did not want to lose his way in this empty cavern. Their way veered off to the right and the dim light of Jotunheim now began to permeate the chamber. 

The blaze of light as they rounded a corner was blinding. Loki flinched and threw an arm up to cover his eyes. One of the Jotun snorted in derision and he lowered it and snarled at them, daring them to continue with their mockery. Tears streamed from his eyes in the brightness, but the beasts seemed as untroubled by the light as they had been by the darkness before it. 

The frost giants turned from him to gaze out beyond the cavern. Squinting and blinking, Loki followed their example. By degrees the blinding white resolved into a scene exactly as the leader had described. The flat expanse of the plain spread out before them, scoured smooth by the wind. It was ringed on all sides by sheer mountain walls. 

Their Jotun foes had chosen well. Even if the valley entrance were not under constant watch, none could hope to cross that expanse unseen. Their only chance of evading detection was through magics Loki was too weak to perform. They would have to cross the plain openly.

A look passed between the Jotun. The leader nodded once, slightly. They turned as one and moved forward. 

“Stop,” Loki commanded as the leader took its first step beyond the lip of the cavern. It did as bidden, but did not turn to face him. Loki noted the sudden tension in its shoulders, and the quivers that ran down the limbs of the others. “I will lead,” he told it.

Now the leader turned to face him. “What’s this?” Loki asked, “surprise?”

“Yes,” it agreed simply. 

The lie came smoothly. “A true king protects his subjects,” Loki said. “He does not march them needlessly to their deaths.” 

A vicious sneer was pulling at the edges of the creature’s mouth. “The way before us is treacherous, Asgardian,” it told him. “You do not know it.”

Loki snorted. How could even this creature be so stupid? He gestured to the tracks that stood out plainly in the windswept snow. “I don’t need to. I need only follow where frost giants know it is safe to tread.” 

The leader’s smile was gruesome now, lips stretched thin against its icy teeth. A second look passed between the other Jotun and the runt. “Then lead us, _king_ ,” it hissed.

“I will,” he said, speaking half to himself, “but not just yet.” The beasts stared at him dumbly. He paid them little mind; a plan was already taking shape. They could not hope to cross the plain without being spotted, and if the sight of unfamiliar frost giants would surely raise the alarm, how much more so four strange Jotun accompanied by an Asgardian? Subterfuge was in order.

Loki explained his plan to the frost giants. The leader acquiesced immediately, and the others did not argue. Most likely they thought their best chance of survival lay in his proposal. Little did they know it would lead them straight into enslavement or death.

But that mattered nothing to him. He darted out from the shelter of the cavern and tore down the path set by the frozen footprints, teeth gritted against the pain. His ragged gasps were the only sound at first, but soon they were joined by the thud of frost giant feet behind him. He ran for all he was worth, though he knew his pursuers would never overtake him. 

The Jotun were shouting now: threats and obscenities, “Kill him!” and worse yet. He would have slain them—and painfully—for their words under any other circumstances, but now it made the subterfuge believable. Any sentinels would see four Jotun in pursuit of an invader. They would never imagine that Loki’s pursuers thought he was a ruse to catch their foes off guard and kill them. And the four Jotun would never imagine that Loki meant to betray them as soon as they encountered the others. 

Loki stumbled, came crashing down on hands and knees and skidded through the snow. He struggled back to his feet and continued, leaving bloody handprints in his wake. The rough ice had taken the skin from his hands. They burned in the frigid air.

“Kill him!” the leader shouted from behind, and Loki shuddered at the pure hatred in its voice. They had clearly attracted the notice of their enemies, for Loki could hear the creak and thud of snow tumbling from the surrounding cliffs, even over the frost giants’ shouting and his own heavy, gasping breaths. 

Doubling down over the pain in his abdomen, he ran on as quickly as he was able, careful always to stay to the path cut by the frozen tracks. His gaze darted from cliff to boulder to cliff, seeking desperately for the first sign of movement, the first indication of where the crucial confrontation would take place. All four Jotun were screaming; he imagined spit flying from their mouths in their rage. Something shuddered and groaned to his left, as if something icy had dislodged itself from the rock. The sounds blended into one—cracking ice, Jotun screaming, air rattling down his throat to his lungs. 

“Loki, no!” He had never heard such urgency in a frost giant’s voice. He turned, caught the look of pure terror on the runt’s face. It dove to the ground and he followed suit. And then the ground wasn’t there at all.

He slid, grasped wildly for any handhold, found one. His feet swung out over emptiness. Bile boiled into his mouth. He screamed, looked behind him, rolled desperately as something long and black and toothed slammed into the snow where he’d lain a moment before. The frost giants were still screaming. He lost his hold, slid twenty terrifying feet, managed to hook his leg around something hard and sharp and broke his fall.

This time his head and torso swung out over empty air and he saw what lay below. His mind went blank in horror. He screamed. It was eyeless and fanged, with tentacles like whips. Two lanced toward him now. He twisted away, screamed again as a wound reopened with the movement. His blood sent the monster into a frenzy and it rose from the pit with a wet sucking sound that left him retching. It lashed at him again, the barbs on its tentacles ripping away ribbons of skin where they struck.

One caught him full in the chest and tore him from the snow, flailing and screaming. He was beside himself with fear; he was caught; there was no escape for him now. Green fire flared in his palms. He cried out and flung it at the beast knowing all the while it was too little to save him. The flames disappeared into the black of its mouth. It howled, deafening. It spasmed. Its tentacles flailed, flung Loki bodily into the opposite cliff. Black cracks spread like roots across his vision and then the entire mountainside collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

Roaring filled his ears. He screamed and slush poured into his mouth and nose. He couldn’t breathe. His head slammed into something hard; his vision swam. He tumbled end over end, colliding with rocks, ice, boulders. 

He slammed into a shelf of rock and was flung to the surface as the snow fumed over a ledge. He flailed, frantic to stay atop the current. A sheet of ice detached from above and fell, taking him under with it. He tumbled, stunned by its weight, then struggled harder. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, heard nothing but the deafening hiss of snow. 

The avalanche poured between two cliffs and the current took him once more to the top, gasping for air. Blood flowed into his eyes but he saw his chance. He fought with everything he had across the current, clawing over ice and powdery snow. He hit an outcrop of rock with enough force to knock the air from his lungs, hung limp and stunned as the current tore at his legs. 

No! He would be damned if he died here, crumpled and sobbing like some human weakling. He cried out in frustration and fear, the breath wheezing from his lungs, and hauled himself hand over fist along the outcrop with bloodied, shredded fingers. 

The avalanche still cascaded down the mountainside behind him. He dragged himself away from the torrent, snarling curses in defiance. His strength took him as far as a granite scree. He collapsed at its base.

He would have slept—and likely died—there had he not woken gasping for air. He doubled over, hacking out the blood and phlegm that had choked him, then unconsciousness took him again. He awoke once more, feverish and convulsing. His ears were ringing, and he thought he could still hear the shrieking monster, the avalanche’s roar, and angry Jotun voices. 

But no, that last was no hallucination. How could he have forgotten? The frost giants had led him here to destroy their rivals. They were still here, and he was as good as dead the moment they saw him lying broken in the snow.

Loki moaned and hauled himself upright. He set off on unsteady feet, blindly, across the ice.

More than once he staggered and fell, lay upon the snow until he could torment himself into continuing. It was a pointless exercise: the trail of footprints and blood he left in his wake would lead the frost giants right to him as soon as they wished to give chase.

But he forced himself onward all the same. He only wanted to survive a little longer. 

He moved more slowly and stumbled more frequently and still he pushed himself forward. His strength would give out before long, and he could no longer ignore the footfalls crunching in the snow behind him.

His pursuer was merely content to follow. It neither called out nor quickened its pace to close the distance between them. It must be finding his attempt to escape amusing. After all, they both knew what the outcome of this chase would be.

Still, Loki forced himself on. When he could no longer walk, he crawled, until finally he lacked the strength even for that. He slumped face first to the ground and lay there, listening dazed as the frost giant’s footsteps grew nearer. 

The foot hooked him under the armpit and rolled him over. The runt loomed over him, face twisted. “You win,” he told it, and shut his eyes.

The killing blow did not come. Now that he knew his fate—to die alone, unrecognized and uncelebrated in the cold and ice, unmourned even by Thor—he wanted only to be done with it. But hatred surged in him for this useless creature, which would live while he would not. “Ever the coward,” he goaded. “Have you forgotten what I taught you on the day we met? Do it.”

“How did you know.” The runt’s voice was toneless. 

“Quickly or not, just do it.”

“How did you know?”

Loki’s eyes flickered open. “Know what?” he said.

“To flee the lyngbakr. When you didn’t even know it was there.”

 _Lyngbakr?_ His lips twisted. He had let the Jotun lead him where they would. He had told them he would cross the plain first and thought nothing of their ready acquiescence. He thought of sea monsters that lay in wait and sank into the depths as soon as an unwary sailor set foot upon them. Those footsteps on the ice he’d followed hadn’t been the tracks of a careless Jotun, but a predator’s lure. Had there even been another band of Jotun? What a fool he had been. 

“Answer me!” The runt dropped to its knees and straddled him, its hands around his throat. “You were so close!” 

So close to walking right into the trap they’d spent days waiting to spring upon him. “How did you know?”

He wished it would just shut up. “Because one of your companions warned me.” He supposed it was some small consolation that one of the beasts had recognized at last that he was its king, had tried to protect him in the end.

“Warned you,” it hissed in disbelief. “No one would warn you.”

Loki sneered and said nothing. He shut his eyes—it wasn’t worth the effort to keep them open. “Look at me!” the runt demanded. “No one would warn you. Who would have warned you?” Panic had crept into the edge of its voice. “No one would warn you.”

“And yet they did,” Loki said, hoping it would sting. “’Loki, no,’ right before that thing—“

The runt moaned. Loki opened his eyes at what he heard in its voice. It rocked back and forth, head in its hands. “No, not ‘Loki.’ Not ‘Loki, no.’ ‘Logi, now.’”

“’Logi?’”

“Yes,” it moaned. “My name. They gave me the sign to kill you. And you fled as though I’d warned you.”

He snorted and turned his face away. He would have found it humorous, except this joke still ended with him dead. “Yes, and now you’ve caught me. Congratulations. Finish the job and run back to your masters.”

“’Run back?’ It laughed, bitterly. Its hands tightened. “There is no ‘back!’" It shook him and Loki groaned. “You did this. You tricked them into thinking I warned you—“

“How _could_ they think that?” Loki sneered. “When you’ve given them no reason ever to doubt your loyalty before.” 

The runt continued as if he hadn’t spoken, its voice increasingly frantic. “I was going to do it and they think I betrayed them! And when they find me, I’m dead.”

“When they find you?” 

The beast left off its shaking and brought its face within inches of Loki’s. “They said a traitor to Asgard’s dogs deserves to die like a dog. They said they’d give me one day to run.”

Loki’s disgust was plain on his face. “Then stop wasting your time and run.”

“What good will it do?” it wailed, beside itself with fear and despair. “I have nowhere to go. You know well I cannot defend myself. Soon all will know me as an outcast—“

As if that were his concern? Was he supposed to pity it its misfortune? He wished it would cease its whining. “Then why did you run?”

It paused, then flung his words back in his face. “Why did _you_ run?”

Loki considered how he must appear to it now—he, who had terrorized it with magic and trickery and threats—lying crumpled and half-dead in the snow at its feet. He smiled. “Well spoken.”

It was laughing now, an ugly, humorless crackle. “I wanted at least to know how you knew. And you didn’t. You didn’t know at all.”

Unbidden, Loki’s thoughts flashed to Asgard, to the years spent in Thor’s shadow, all the time wondering _why_ the Allfather never acknowledged his abilities too. To how, after he had finally learned the answer, it had made nothing better. 

And as though that were not insult enough, he recognized the same conclusion in the runt’s laughter. As though what Odin had done to him, how he must have laughed at his eager, naïve 'son' for all those years were not bad enough, now he must share this in common with this monster as well?

Anger seethed in the pit of his stomach.

“Stop,” he said, “stop.” And then, when that had no effect, “Logi, stop!”

The creature recoiled at the sound of its name. “A bargain,” he said.

“Oh no,” the runt breathed. “Oh, no. Asgardian, you will not trick me again—“

“A bargain—ah!” The mere effort of raising his voice over the runt’s sent pain slicing through his stomach. He broke off, wheezing, and locked gazes with it. For once, he wore all his hatred—of Thor, of Odin, of Asgard, of the runt, of Jotunheim—plain on his face. The runt’s red eyes widened in recognition.

“I offer a bargain,” he gasped. “The only honest one I have ever made in my life. I save both our lives, here, now. You help me survive until I am healed.” He stared hard at the runt, beseeching. Let it see that every word he spoke was true, with nothing hidden behind it. 

“And when you are healed?” the runt asked.

“We hunt them down and kill them all.” 

“And then?” Its lips barely moved.

“We kill each other or part ways for good. I care not. But I want them dead. Every last one of them.”

A vicious smile spread across its features. “I believe you, Asgardian,” it said. “Tell me how to do this thing.”

In truth, Loki was not sure whether he’d even survive long enough to attempt it. But the frost giants were true to their word. When they arrived hard on the runt’s trail less than a day later, they were met with the sight of two bloody corpses in the snow. Loki lay where he had fallen, eyes open and empty as the grey skies overhead. The runt lay crumpled several paces away, hunched over the hilt of Loki’s dagger in its stomach.

One of the beasts crunched toward them. “Leave them,” the leader’s voice halted it, “where they lie.”

The creature spat in the snow. “Let me at least take his—“

“It is beneath you,” the leader said. It snorted, derisively. “They have both met the end they deserve.”

The Jotuns’ footfalls receded into the hiss of sleet atop the ice. 

Only the fact that Loki was so close to death had made his feeble illusion believable. But in this, at least, Jotun were no different from the citizens of Asgard, who all too often saw only what they wished to see. Loki lay as the frost giants had left him, too weak even to shut his eyes.

After a time, the runt rose and crossed the distance to tower over him. “We go,” it told him.

Loki looked away, too tired to feel anger at the creature’s half command. “No, we stay. Be useful, and make us some sort of shelter.”

“The others—“

“Were told to leave us where we fell, or weren’t you listening?”

The runt gave a low snarl of impatience. “All the same, they will be back. And if not them, others.”

“For what? Because they’ve had a change of heart? To give us a proper burial after all?”

“To take your blades, and our clothing.”

Loki’s mocking laugh turned to a fresh gasp of pain.

“Your laughter will not change the truth.”

Loki forced his eyes back open and looked long at the runt. “They will defy the command of their leader. For our rags.” Its face hardened, lips pressing into a thin line.

“You are speaking the truth,” Loki said slowly.

The runt nodded, shame and defiance warring on its features. “Iorund has forbidden it, but all the same one will try, and soon. We must be far from here before they return.”

Loki shut his eyes and grimaced. “We must wait at least a day—“

“We cannot—“

“We must,” he snapped. “We will. If we are to survive to kill them, then I must heal—“

“I am telling you there is no time for that!”

In the end, the urgency in its tone convinced him. “You must bear me,” he said, hating even to command it. “I cannot walk.” The thought of being slung over the Jotun’s shoulder like a sack of grain disgusted him.

“No,” it said at last. “No. I will not carry a dog of Asgard as though I were its beast of burden.”

Loki clenched his jaw. He was incapable of walking, could the beast not comprehend that? “No,” he agreed. He knew he tread on thin ice, but continued anyway. When he stood on dangerous ground, he always did. “You will bear me as though I were your king.”

The runt looked at him, calculating. “No,” it said again, slowly. Then it knelt, seized him by the ankle. An ugly smile twisted across its face “More snow comes,” it told him. “It will cover the way behind us.” Then it straightened and began to drag him across the ice. Loki cursed it, viciously, until the last of his strength failed and he passed into darkness.

He woke, shivering violently. Blizzard winds howled above, but cavern walls spared him from the worst of it. Loki could just make out the shape of the runt in the watery light that filtered in from the entrance. It regarded him coldly, and said nothing. He groaned, curling tight against the pain, and fell back into darkness.

Shaking rattled him awake once more. “You tremble,” said the runt. “Do you fear in your sleep for what you have done?” A blast of icy wind whipped over them and Loki shuddered anew. 

“No, you fool,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m freezing to death.”

Its brows rose in surprise. When Loki woke up again it was gone. In his delirium he dreamed it mocked him, speaking with Thor’s voice. He dreamed he ruled Midgard as its king. The runt was crouching over him. “Eat,” it said. Loki opened his mouth like a child and the beast shoved something onto his tongue. It was cold and grey, and tasted of seawater and rot. He retched. Snarling, the runt forced his jaw shut until hacking and gagging, he swallowed. 

Finally he woke weak and disoriented, but no longer beside himself with fever. He looked about with bleary eyes, wincing at the headache even this dim light brought on. The runt had resumed its post against the opposite wall. It raised something small and slug-like to its mouth and chewed, never taking its eyes from Loki.

“Abhorrent,” he breathed.

Anger flared across the runt’s features. “And yet you ate,” it said in a low voice. 

However foul those…things…had been, Loki knew he could not have healed, even this slightly, without them. But he would be damned before he admitted that openly. “I wonder that you didn’t let me starve, rather than share such delicacies with an enemy.” His voice dripped venom.

“You’re of no use to me dead.” 

“I’m of little use to you now.” He had intended the words to mock, and recoiled at the self-pity in his voice. But it was too late; the beast had heard it too. “Little Asgardian,” it taunted. “So cold and hungry.” 

Loki bared his teeth at it. 

“Do not forget your bargain,” it threatened. Its voice evinced nothing but irritation and an undercurrent of disgust. It put another piece of offal into its mouth. 

He waited until it finished chewing. “Poor little frost giant,” he echoed. “Cast out from your own kind. Your only ally an Asgardian,” his voice switched from compassion to steel, “who has not forgotten that bargain. And who will kill you once is through.”

The runt was silent for a long time. “You have no allies either.” It spoke slowly, as if it half disbelieved its own words.

Loki spoke quickly. “Oh, take care not to jump to conclusions. Even separated from my companions I have bested your kind at every turn. Once we are reunited, you will be even more—”

“You have none.” It cut in decisively, no uncertainty remaining in its voice. “You have no companions, and you have no allies.” Its gaze did not waver.

“You would not have come here to try to make yourself king if you did.”

Loki stared at it, dumbfounded. His retort died unspoken on his lips. The beast saw that it had had struck home and smiled, red eyes alight with satisfaction. “So now, we are both here in the wastes. You cannot kill me if you want to survive and I cannot kill you, for the same reason. Only, I am no longer a slave.”

Its next words—that Loki had never been a king—hung unspoken in the air. 

Loki cursed it viciously, too angry to restrain himself. The beast smiled and stood. “Anger won’t help you,” it said. “Only I can do that.”

It turned and strode toward the entrance to their shelter. “If you wish to wear something other than those rags, come with me.”

They trod in silence for the first hour, the only sound Loki’s labored breathing as he struggled to match the runt’s pace. Thick drifts of fresh snow, some the height of a man or more, slowed their progress. Nonetheless, the creature never once bothered to turn to see if Loki were following, for which he was both furious and grateful. 

It was heedful of his progress all the same, slowing its pace whenever Loki lagged too far behind. The set of its shoulders was firm as it waited for Loki to catch up. These intervals increased as the day wore on; what little endurance Loki possessed was flagging.

Still, he followed mechanically behind it until he could no longer force one foot in front of the other. “Stop,” he said at last. He had meant to command, but his gasping breaths made it more of an entreaty. “Let us rest here.”

The creature halted at his words. It did not turn to look at him. The set of its shoulders hardened. “No,” it said. “We go.” It set off once more through the snow. 

Loki bit back a wave of anger. Rage would not serve him now, not while the creature still held the upper hand. After all, he had learned how to play at humility in Asgard. He could do so here, now, until he was fed, clothed, and healed. The he would fulfill his end of the bargain so the creature would regret what he would mete out to it afterward all the more keenly. “Logi,” he said, schooling his voice to evenness. “I cannot continue on.”

The beast wheeled to face him, its face twisted, in derision or impatience, Loki could not say. “I’ve seen you walk farther in far worse condition.”

“Oh, yes, I can _walk_ ,” he snarled, feeling the humiliation of his earlier flight through the snows anew. “But you will find me a poor match for any foe we encounter.”

The runt blinked in surprise. Then comprehension dawned on its face, along with an expression Loki couldn’t quite place. “No Jotun go where we go,” it said.

“Really?” His tone indicated he found its statement anything but believable. “No Jotun. In a realm where frost giants rob their own dead of rags.”

“Yes,” it said simply, still regarding him with that inscrutable look. 

“You will see soon for yourself,” it added. “It is not far now.”


	7. Chapter 7

How far is ‘not far?’” he demanded as they set off once more, his impatience getting the better of him. The runt continued on as though it had not heard him, striking out across a gentle slope. Then it stopped, gazing out ahead of them, and pointed. Loki followed its outstretched finger to a line of low, mounded hills clustered in the hollow of the valley below. There was little about them to distinguish them from any other pile of snow he’d seen in this realm. 

“That?” he asked, barely able to conceal his scorn. “That is what is going to save us?”

“If the stories are true,” it said. It trod forward through the snow.

“And if they aren’t?” His voice was growing sharper, waspish. If the creature was leading him on a fool’s errand…

“Then we will have lost nothing but time.” It regarded the hills pensively. “Something lies there. And I am curious to know what is true and what is only tales.”

Loki grit his teeth and said nothing. The runt may be curious, but he was not. And if aught but tales awaited them at the end of this trek, he would make sure that it felt his displeasure. They continued on in silence until they reached the valley floor. Here the going was harder. The snow lay damp and loose, piled to the height of a frost giant or more as if the very skies had tried to bury the place. The runt pushed its way through as though fording a river, Loki scrambling along in its wake, unable to see what lay ahead.

Eventually the ground began to slope back up. The snows fell to the height of the runt’s head, then its shoulders, then to its waist. Loki realized they were already making their way up one of the hills the runt had indicated from the top of the valley; the distance and the massive drifts had disguised their true height. 

At long last they crested the first mound and clambered down the opposite side into a broad, level basin. The hillocks, oddly symmetrical, ranged about them on all sides. The going was easier here, where the wind seemed to have scoured away much of the drifts. The runt strode out into basin, looking about intently. Loki trailed after it with increasing impatience. Despite its words to the contrary, this excursion increasingly appeared to be naught but a waste of time and effort. 

At last he could hold his tongue no longer. “Are we just wandering blindly, or is there a point to any of this?”

“When I find what we have come for, I will tell you,” it responded, eyes never leaving the hillock before which it stood.

He let out a long, careful breath. “Why don’t you _tell_ me what we’ve come for, so I can help us to look.”

It did bother to look at him at this, a wicked smile twisting one corner of its mouth. “That would be useless,” it said, “when you don’t even know how to read the snow.” It spoke in the pitying tone of an adult addressing a simple child. 

As if there was anything to be read from the snows other than ‘cold’ and ‘white.’ “Fine,” Loki snapped. “In that case, I’ll waste my time no longer. Come find me once you have something worthwhile to show for your…efforts.” He kicked his way through the snow to a sheltered spot in the drifts and dropped to ground to nurse his anger alone. 

Exhausted and bored, he drifted in and out of sleep. The runt continued to cast about amongst the hillocks, though for what, Loki could not say. Nor did he much care by now. Let it waste its time; he was glad of the chance, finally, to rest. He shut his eyes and tried to stay the chattering of his teeth.

He would sleep now, while he could, and when he woke he would determine how to make the creature abandon this fool’s quest and do something useful instead. It was galling that he must depend on it even this much; that the creature’s whims were so clearly a waste of effort was more humiliating yet.

A sharp crack rang out. Loki sprang to his feet, wincing as he forced stiff limbs to move. His eyes sought the place where he’d seen the runt last. He found it backing away from one of the squatter hillocks and watched in shock as cracks branched along the hill’s surface. They grew like whipcracks, widening, until its entire face sheered off. He swore viciously beneath his breath. If the creature had started another avalanche—

The sheet of ice crashed to the ground in a shower of snow and grit. Loki drew back, shielding his eyes. The ice crystals were as sharp as knives, stinging as they pelted his skin. The collapse threw up a mist of fine snow that persisted even after the last of the rubble had fallen. It coated his eyelashes and burned his throat and nostrils. Several heartbeats passed before he was able to make anything out through the haze. 

The runt’s form emerged gradually from the mist. It stood with his back to him before the wreckage, partially blocking his view of their surroundings. A black gash marred the hillock’s face. A moment passed before Loki realized it was not newly exposed rock, but a fissure opened up directly into the mound itself. 

“Agardian,” the runt breathed. “I have found it.” 

Loki rose and drew cautiously to its side. A smile toyed at the edges of his lips. “So there may be something to your tales after all,” he said. For the first time in many long days he felt something other than anger or boredom. 

“Yes,” said the runt, after a long silence. It drew the word out, the pensive expression back on its face, mixed this time with trepidation. Loki watched it carefully. He had thought the ‘truth’ behind the rumors it spoke of was likely nothing more than another Jotun band they could rob like the common thieves. But there was clearly something more to its tales, for the space beyond the fissure had been made by Jotun hands. Peering within, he began to pick out details—a stone lintel, icy flagstones, a tunnel of rammed earth and snow descending into the heart of the hill.

No Jotun go here, the runt had said, yet at one point they clearly had. And it belied belief that anything of value could lie unmolested in this realm, where frost giants robbed the living of food and the dead of whatever they had possessed in life. Yet the two of them had forced their way here through virgin snow. No beast—Jotun or otherwise—had set foot in this valley for centuries. So why were they the first to reopen the chamber when knowledge of it still existed, even if only in rumor? Loki’s eyes narrowed. Had the place truly been abandoned? Despite every indication it had, he would need to proceed with care.

But the runt took the decision out of his hands. Squaring its shoulders, it inhaled deeply and strode toward the fissure. It was all Loki could do to bite back his laughter. At the very least, whatever lay within was likely well guarded; otherwise, the place would have been ransacked long ago. And if the runt wished to blunder ahead into whatever traps lay within while Loki followed cautiously in its wake, who was he to stop it?

Shoving frozen fingers beneath his arms for warmth, he followed several paces behind it, head held high in amusement but alert to any sign of danger. The air inside the passageway was cold and dry, the stone floor slick with ice. Loki’s boots found little purchase on its surface and he crept forward at a snail’s pace to keep from tumbling to the ground. Even the runt moved forward with difficulty. The way narrowed as it bored deeper into the hill, as though the walls themselves were trying to wring the tunnel closed. Loki’s head brushed the rough-hewn ceiling more than once. The runt bent low as it followed the curve of the passage as it plunged further into the hillock. 

They rounded a sharp turn. The runt stopped dead in its tracks with a sharp intake of breath. Loki tried to shoulder past it, eager to see what lay concealed beyond.

Its forearm caught him full in the throat. He buckled and fell to his knees, hands clutching his neck, wheezing for air. Yet again, _yet again_ , he’d let his guard down and the beast had caught him unaware.

But the runt did not press its advantage. It stepped over him as though he were not there and backed down the tunnel, shuddering. 

“What—“ Loki began, searching its face for some clue as to its distress. It glanced at him at the sound of his voice. Then its gaze fixed once more on the passage before them. “No,” it groaned, then turned and fled the tunnel.

Loki knew true fear when he saw it. He hauled himself to his feet and fled after it, sliding wildly across the ice. The runt burst free of the hillock and continued across the clearing. Loki couldn’t match its long strides through the snow--it had abandoned him to his fate. Snarling, he dropped to a crouch and wheeled to face the way they had come. He would face whatever threat pursued them alone.

But nothing pursued them. His eyes swept the valley—for an enemy, for anything at all that could have caused the runt’s alarm. The mouth of the crevice was a black gash in the endless white and grey. Nothing moved, not even flakes of snow on the wind. Slowly, he straightened and set off back toward the hillock. Whatever threat might lie within, he could not detect it.

“You’re going back?” The runt’s voice chased after him, thick with disbelief. He stopped, turned, one arm clutching at the stitch in his abdomen. The creature was nowhere to be seen. His eyes swept the clearing twice before it shuddered and he finally saw it, crouched low between two drifts. Had it not moved he might never have found it at all, so well did it blend into its surroundings. 

“And why would I not?” he demanded.

The creature gaped at him. “But didn’t you see?”

“Didn’t you see?” he mimicked. “What I saw was you fleeing shadows and empty air like a frightened child.” He gestured mockingly toward the mouth of the hillock. “Tell me, what dangers pursue us now?”

But the runt only stared at him, red eyes fixed on his face, and shook its head dumbly.

Snarling, he turned and made his way back to the hillock. He knew not what had frightened the runt, which argued for caution, but he had come too far to abandon this effort now. Drained and broken though he was, he would face whatever danger awaited within himself. What other choice did he have? To abandon this quest now and wander aimlessly through the snows? No. Let the runt play the coward. He would give it an example to be ashamed of.

He paused briefly at the stone entrance, but sensed nothing within. Ducking inside, Loki crept as quickly as he was able past the faint shaft of light that fell across the threshold, then drew his blades. Whatever lay within had concealed itself well, and he too knew better than to let a careless glint of steal betray _his_ presence in the dark. Back pressed to the frozen wall, he slid forward through the passageway, tensed to counter any attack.

He slowed as he drew around the curve from which the runt had fled, daggers at the ready, ears peeled for any sound of movement from beyond. He heard none. He released a long breath and slid round the corner, saw what lay within, and gasped.

Their eyes stared emptily at him, rimed with snow. They lay four or five deep in places. Scores of them, limbs contorted, flesh on cheeks and hands leathered and eaten away by frost. The royal gold and green were livid after the endless greys of Jotunheim. 

He was still standing, mute, when the runt crept back into the chamber some time later. It skulked across the floor to crouch behind him as if for protection, its breathing the loudest sound in the room. 

“Do you see now?” it asked. “The tales are true.”

Something in its voice he couldn’t identify—vindication? dread?—set his teeth on edge. “See what?” he demanded. “Asgard’s dead? It would be difficult to miss them.” 

“It does not frighten you?” the runt asked at last. “To see them cursed like this?”

“Cursed?” He tensed reflexively, then snorted and relaxed. He sensed no magic, neither within the chamber nor upon the dead themselves, and yet the beast spoke of its presence with certainty. There was apparently no end to its ignorance.

The runt made a strangled sound, as if it had tried to respond but choked on the words. He turned to regard it. Its eyes were fixed on him, shock, contempt, and horror chasing themselves across its face in quick succession. 

“Yes, cursed! They have lain here for centuries, Asgardian. And it is as though they have just fallen.”

Then these _were_ the slain heroes of Odin’s glorious triumph over the Jotun. Rumors had lurked at the edges of the tales of glory—never spoken of openly, or in sobriety—that not all of the fallen had been borne back to Asgard. Loki had once dismissed it as the jealous whisperings of those too cowardly to have taken part in the battle themselves. But then, it should not surprise him that the rumors were true after all. That the fallen had been left to rot in this realm was the least of the lies he’d been told in Asgard. He spared the runt a look of derision. “Of course it is. What do you expect, in this cold?” 

It gaped at him, shocked to silence. “But the ice has refused them. How can you not see that they’re cursed? They cannot be free until they’ve gone to the snows.”

“Or the pyre,” he muttered, gaze darting around the chamber. How many of them were there? Three score at least, and more, it looked like, in the room beyond. 

“Fire?” The runt was incredulous, stretching out the initial consonant until the sound of it hissed through the room. “That’s barbaric.”

As if frost giants had any right to speak of barbarism. “Hardly,” Loki said. “It is a fitting tribute to the dead.”

“Tribute? That—you—” The creature’s mouth worked uselessly as it searched for words. “I would not take fire to the corpses of my _masters_ ,” it breathed at last.

Loki laughed, short and bitter. “Then you are a fool. When I return to Asgard, I will burn it to the ground and worse.” He broke off, but it was too late; the words were already spoken. There was a sudden watchful stillness to the runt’s gaze; surprise and calculation replacing the horror in its expression.

“You are no liege of Odin’s?” It spoke flatly, and Loki could not discern what conclusions it had drawn beneath its words. He sought immediately to dissemble. “Who are, aside from cowards and fools?”

The runt looked at him and said nothing. Acid rose in Loki’s chest. He had been foolish. Here in Jotunheim, it should make no difference whether the runt thought him the Allfather’s loyal subject or knew him to be the Allfather’s sworn enemy. But who knew how the creature might seek to turn this knowledge to its advantage? It had proved itself clever before, and he had handed it the truth of his exile like a gift. Schooling his voice to calmness, he sought to put himself on more advantageous footing. “You say these men are cursed.”

“They are.” It watched him warily, eyes fixed on his face.

“Then why,” he smiled, and sprung the trap, “did you lead me to this place?” His voice was threateningly pleasant. “Did you intend me to fall victim as well?”

The runt blinked, fear forgotten as though it had anticipated a different accusation. “No,” it said. “I did not believe the stories at all. I thought we would find nothing but old rags in the ice.

“But now I have seen the truth with my own eyes.” Its gaze darted around the chamber. “Your kind may have laid waste to Jotunheim, but in death at least they have found no escape from their crimes.”

Loki thought that a bit overwrought. This realm had been a wasteland to begin with; killing hundreds of frost giants could only have improved it. Still, it was a shock to see the cost of those efforts laid out so clearly before him. 

At the same time, he was dully surprised to find that he felt little sympathy for those who lay entombed here, for all that he’d thrilled to stories of Asgard’s brave heroes in Jotunheim as a child. What were these men, really, other than Odin’s flacks and lackeys? The Allfather had used them and discarded them once their purpose was served. In this, they were not so different from Loki himself, except that he had had the wits to survive and escape Odin’s plans for him. 

Still, it was shocking to see how many had not. “How many do you think there are?” he asked, and was startled when the runt answered; he had spoken to himself.

“They say the entire temple is defiled with Asgard’s dead,” it said. “Your kind brought the first of them here, and when we forced you back to Asgard we dragged the rest here ourselves so they would not pollute the rest of the realm, or worse.”

So that would explain how they had all come to be here, piled atop each other like cordwood. Aloud, he said, “Or worse?”

The runt grimaced. “Say what you will, Asgardian, they are cursed. It is no wonder none set foot here. We should not have either.”

Loki saw his opening. Biting back his disgust, he bent to finger the thick wool of a longbowman’s cloak, enjoying the runt’s shudder. “Tell me, would the cursed allow me to do this?” He tore the garment roughly from the corpse and drew it about himself, trying to ignore the dark stain that marred its upper half. The runt flinched away as if Loki had touched the cloak to it himself.

“Oh, come now. Cursed or not, even you can see there’s nothing to fear from taking what we need from these men. Don’t,” he continued, “let your belief in tales undo the only useful thing you have thus far done.”

It didn’t deign to answer, merely watched him with trepidation and disgust plain on its features. So this is what he had fallen to—a grave robber, a scavenger of the dead, reviled even by Jotunheim’s outcasts. His skin crawled with humiliation. 

His jaw clenched. If so, then so be it. He would do what needed to be done to survive. Clothing, armor, weapons—these corpses possessed what he needed, and he would take it from them. He would be craven now so that he might taste greater glory later. And when he returned to Asgard, he would make Odin, Thor, all of them pay for every humiliation he was forced to suffer here.


	8. Chapter 8

Even the paltry warmth of the cloak was heady after so much cold. Loki began to shiver violently as his muscles warmed. He had mocked the runt's fear of the dead, yet his skin still crawled to wear their clothing. The corpse’s eyes gaped emptily at him, as if in reproach. Loki felt the urge to cast the fabric over it, covering it from view, and flee. 

The runt shuddered, fought to gain control of itself, and lost. Tremors ran through its limbs. Its eyes darted about the chamber, from the face of one dead man to another. Loki knew it for a fool, but even still, tendrils of fear crept from the pit of his stomach as he watched it, as though it somehow forced him to share its panic. 

“How childish,” he said, “that you still cling to superstition even after I've shown you there's nothing to fear.” He reached for another corpse with fingers trembling from the cold, and pried loose a longsword from its clasped hands. Its fingers snapped from the hilt like kindling. The runt groaned. 

Loki cast it a look of scorn, then thrust the blade into the pile of corpses before him, levering them apart so that he need not touch them himself. These men’s cloaks he took too, then pushed roughly past the runt out into the tunnel. It scurried after him, breath rapid and harsh and gusting cold over his head as it fled.

Its bulk him pressed him forward almost faster than he was able to move across the icy floor. He was weary to the bone, and his newfound warmth made him wearier still. He paused at last gentle curve before the mouth of the tunnel. The runt loomed over him, hands braced against the walls to keep itself from tumbling into him. It had not expected him to stop here.

“Tell me, do you fear the retribution of the dead still?”

“Yes,” it said. “And moreso now that you have defiled them.” 

He searched its face for signs of dissembling, and found none. "Then allow me to propose another bargain."

It listened, an icy vein throbbing in the hollow of its throat.

"You fear the corpses within, for all that they've been dead these long centuries. I fear that others may come upon this place and take what we--or I, since you want no part of it--have found here and made rightfully mine." He gestured toward the stones of the threshold. "Stay here and disguise our presence. I will be within.

"If, somehow, the dead do see fit to wake, they will come for me first." 

The runt stood silent for long moments. Then it nodded, once, as he had known it would. There was sense in his proposal; moreover, it left both of them feeling they'd secured the better end of the bargain. That the runt could only think so because it was a fool was hardly any concern of Loki's.

It turned and moved quickly out of the tunnel. Loki waited until its form blended into the murky light and could no longer been seen. Then he dropped two of the cloaks onto the flagstones. Wrapping himself tightly in the rest, he threw himself upon them, and slept. 

He opened his eyes to watery gloom, roused suddenly by a stabbing pain. He worked a hand along his ribs, found something small and sharp and pulled it free from the matted mess of fabric and gore—a long, thin splinter of bone. He cast it quickly away from him. It tinkled softly against the ice into the gloom. 

He rose, his limbs moving more easily now he was no longer chilled to the bone, and moved up the corridor to inspect the runt’s work. He found it at the mouth of the corridor. It lay curled on its side beneath the column of snow and ice it had built to disguise the entrance. Loki moved carefully past it to stare out the narrow fissure that was all that remained to them for an exit. It had done its work well. To try to cover their tracks, he now saw, would have been a fool’s errand in such pristine snows. Instead, it had torn ice and rock from the other hills ringing the basin and cast it about till all was a landscape of rubble. It would not be so easy for anyone to trace their steps now. 

It troubled him, that he had slept so soundly through its efforts. 

The runt was evidently as exhausted as Loki, for it did not so much as stir as he strode back to stand over it. Loki gazed down at it in fascination. It had fitted its bulk into a surprisingly small space, as though it wished the snow itself would open and swallow it. Its eyes moved fitfully as it dreamt, the red irises flashing weirdly beneath its translucent eyelids. Its lips parted. Were it not for its size and its mottled blue skin, it could have been any sleeping Asgardian.

Loki regarded it a few moments longer before retracing his steps to the heart of the temple. His stomach rolled at what he knew he must do. He moved carefully though the chamber, trying to evaluate the quality of the dead’s possessions while ignoring the dead themselves. He trod on an exposed limb and it crunched beneath his heel.

Eventually he found what he was looking for: a warrior of slight build and of a height with him, and who had been felled by a single clean wound to the chest. But though the man's body was free of the brutal wounds that felled so many of his companions, the centuries had turned his limbs to pure ice, heavy as rock and equally immobile. In the end, Loki was forced to dismember him with his own sword. 

It was viciously hard work. Sweat rose on his brow, his palms, his back, freezing instantly in the frigid air. He was forced to stop more than once to wipe the frost from his lashes, warm purpled fingers beneath his arms, peel his ragged tunic back from his skin. Loki hated brute imprecision, but all the same it served him well here as he hacked the dead free of their tunics, their vests, their leggings and boots. Thor would have been proud to see him now.

When he was finished, he kicked the remains of his handiwork into a pile and covered them with those rags that were too tattered to be of use so that he need not look upon what he had done. That task complete, he set about gathering up the dead’s weapons: longbows, bolts, spears and battle axes.

The runt reappeared some time later. Loki heard it casting frantically about in the main rooms before it located the small side chamber to which he’d withdrawn. It ducked quickly under the lintel, eager not to be alone with the dead.

When it saw what he was doing, it gasped and withdrew to the doorway. 

“Are you mad?” it hissed.

Loki spared it a brief glance and continued his work. 

It crept inside and circled the edge of the chamber, fascinated by the sight before it. “You will kill us both,” it said, voice low.

“With this? Hardly. Well. You, it probably could kill.” Loki snatched the butt of a lance from the coals and brandished it in the runt’s face. It flinched backward, arms raised to its head. It held them there for several moments until it saw that Loki did not mean to press the attack in earnest. For once, no humiliation colored its features, for all that it realized Loki had made a fool of it yet again. Was it truly so fearful of such weak flames? 

For they were weak. Dry air and the passage of centuries had desiccated the wooden weapons, but even still it had required all of Loki’s concentration to will his spellfire to take. Even after the sparks caught in earnest, they burned low with a choking, oily smoke out of all proportion to the anemic yellow flames. 

The fire's weakness made this work all the harder, but he was not about to let the runt know it. Defiant, he scooped up another handful of slush and scrubbed. His hands were chapped and red, the knuckles split by the cold. The runt’s gaze moved between his face, the flames, the garments piled at Loki’s knees. Loki fisted his hands in the rough fabric of a padded vest and twisted. A thin trickle of grayish-red fluid pattered into the flames, which spat and hissed in response. 

There were magics to accomplish tasks such as this, but he had scorned to learn them. “Let the servants see to such things,” he had told Frigga when once she’d offered to teach him. “That is what they are for.” He’d chided her for her look of disappointment. 

Her eyes soft, she’d told him that such work was the most valuable of all and had more to teach him than any of the great spells. She’d been wrong of course, as she too often was, but now he wished he had humored her. To have done so would have saved him this humiliation today. But then, how could he have imagined that he would one day fall to this, skulking underground, doing the work of scullery maids?

The runt crouched against the wall, as far from the hearth as their close quarters permitted, its eyes fixed on the flames. Had the Allfather truly never thought to use fire when he led his armies here, Loki wondered. The entire realm could have been his in a matter of days, had the thought but occurred to him. But then, perhaps he had known, and still chose to invade with the legions of Asgard at his back instead. It was the sort of grandiose miscalculation Loki had watched him make all too often through the years: empty gestures and bombast where he would have been better served by strategy. It sickened him to think of it, of the opportunity squandered, of how someone so ill-suited to rule as Odin could sit upon the throne of Asgard, an adoring populace on bended knee at his feet. 

No matter. With fire and warmth, it would not be long until he recovered, regained his full power. And when he did, he would correct the Allfather’s mistakes at his leisure. His hands paused as he looked at the runt. Would he begin the work of correcting them here, with it, or would he keep it near to watch as he taught the other frost giants a long overdue lesson? 

The creature felt Loki’s eyes upon it, but this time, it did not respond in fear. “Why are you doing that?” it asked, still staring at the fire. It clearly wished to flee from it, but did not, watching as if transfixed while yellow flames licked along the wood. 

“Because I wish to make use of them myself,” he said with false patience.

At last, the runt’s gaze left the flames. It eyed the pile at Loki’s knees dubiously. Its brow furrowed. “Why bother? They did little enough to protect the men who once wore them.”

Loki looked at it, eyes narrowed. The creature returned his look of disbelief. “You yourself should know how worthless they are.” It raised a hand, indicated the tatters of Loki’s old clothing where it lay in a pile beside him.

“How—“ He paused, snorted, scoffed. “This isn’t armor, you fool.” 

The runt smirked back, as if _he_ were the simpleton. “Then what purpose does it serve?”

It was inconceivable that the creature did not know. But then, why would it? It had spent its entire life enslaved in this forsaken realm, had never seen an Asgardian, or any being at all aside from a frost giant, before Loki had come to liberate it. 

Even still, had it truly failed to notice how the garments protected him from the cold, how desperate he had been to obtain them? He marveled at its blindness. “Work it out yourself,” he said. “I can’t be bothered to waste my breath in teaching you.”

“Then they are to conceal your arms,” the runt spat back, its voice brimming with righteous certainty. “That's barbaric. The tactic of cowards and weaklings.”

His bark of laughter escaped on an icy puff of breath. “You would speak to _me_ of barbarism? When you sit there naked, save only for a rag?” He gestured to the scrap of rawhide tied about the beast’s waist, prepared to mock it in its stupidity

But it was no longer listening, its attention drawn once more to the fire. It crept closer, eying the sputtering flames with fascination. “I have heard that once started, it will rage out of control.”

Loki snorted. “That’s hardly likely in this wasteland.” He fixed the runt with his gaze. “To rage out of control, it would first need something to burn.”

Its gaze darted to the chamber behind Loki, pupils dilating to the edges of its red eyes. _Of course._ It was only yesterday that he had spoken of consigning Asgard’s dead to the pyre. It was remarkable how the concept horrified the runt, for all that it had named these men barbarians, invaders. Loki marked its fear, and the advantage it might provide him.

“You’re right,” he said silkily. “There is something here after all.”

It jerked back to face him. “ _Will_ you burn them?” it asked. 

“Do you want me to?” he countered pleasantly. 

A violent shudder ran through it. Perfect.

“Do you know,” he continued. “I think I could find a use for that room.” He angled his head over his shoulder toward the chamber behind them. “Only, it’s so cluttered with the dead.” He let the unspoken threat hang in the air until the beast worked it out on its own. 

“I will not touch them,” it said, voice low.

“Oh, but you will. Or they _will_ burn.” His hand moved toward the smoldering remains of an axe handle. “Tell me, which do you fear more, emptying a room of corpses, or watching them burn as you feed them to the flames yourself?” 

It retched and Loki watched smiling as it choked back bile. Finally, it rose on leaden legs and went back out through the low doorway into the chamber, as if to its own death. 

But his amusement at his triumph was fleeting, and before long the slow scrape of frozen limbs across the flagstones ceased to hold his attention. The task before him seemed even more debasing than before. He fed a handful of splintered wood to the fire and watched the flames creep across it, brooding. 

The fire grew barely stronger for having been fed, but even still, its scant heat was seductive. His head drooped on his neck. He shut his eyes. How good it was to be warm again. 

“What have you done?” The runt’s cry of horror roused him and he stared at it groggily. Slush splattered down over his outstretched legs with a thick wet noise. Water, he thought. How good it would be to drink water, instead of forcing down handfuls of snow to quench his thirst. 

It was warm in the small chamber, the moist air thick and hard to breathe. The fire had burned down to embers. They glowed red in the gloom, giving off more heat than had the fire itself. Loki felt even through the layers of clammy cloaks. Water was dripping steadily from a long crack across the ceiling. It hissed as it struck the remains of the fire. He could barely see through the steam. 

He gasped and leapt to his feet only to collapse back to the floor, legs snared in sodden wool. The runt loomed in the doorway, rooted in place with shock. Loki tried to kick free of the mess of tangled fabric and could not. He clawed at the flagstones, pulling himself through the slush toward the runt. He reached out, grabbed it at the knee to drag himself up, gasping at the searing cold that lanced through his arm. But he did not let go. He grit his teeth against the pain, pulled himself halfway to his feet. The ceiling collapsed with a crash like thunder.

Snow poured down from above, carrying them both through the door as it flooded into the main chamber. Loki slammed into something hard and unyielding. White light lanced across his vision. The flood continued, pressing the air from his lungs. 

He couldn’t breathe. He pushed against the torrent of icy rubble but his efforts were useless. The roar was deafening. Each breath drew in stinging ice that clogged his throat. He needed to get out before he suffocated, but he could not tell where out lay.

He moaned, low, but fought back a true cry of panic. The runt was a creature of snow. Were it still alive, it might try to kill him if it knew him to be trapped, injured. It might yet leave him to die in the snow. Loki would certainly have done the same to it, had their positions been reversed. 

He bit back his fear and commanded himself to _think_. But his mind would not obey. There was no space, no air. His head throbbed. “Ah—“ He grit his teeth against another moan. Rage coursed through him, that the runt was a creature of this realm and would know how to survive this entombment by snow, would surely survive it, while he—

And there it was. Loki forced himself to still, schooled his panicked gasps to slow, even inhalations. Sound traveled weirdly through the ice, muffled and directionless. There was the rasping of his own breath, a constant low hiss of snow pouring in to fill empty space, the intermittent thunder of heavy sheets of ice and rock fracturing and collapsing. He flinched anew at each reverberating crash.

But then, amongst the clamor he began to make out regular, purposeful movements not so far away. Loki shut his eyes, drew a final breath, and clawed toward the sounds through the icy rubble with all his remaining strength. There was no air. He couldn’t breathe. He scraped frantically at snow and ice only to uncover more of the same.

But then he punched a bloodied hand through a wall of ice to find empty space beyond it. Laughing with relief, he tore at the hole until he was able to press first his head, and then his shoulders through. He sprawled for a moment, half free, gasping, luxuriating in the air, the _nothingness_ , before hauling himself the rest of the way through. The runt crouched low, its bulk filling most of the cavity so that they were forced to squeeze all but on top of one another, their faces inches apart.

They stared at one another, eyes wild, chests heaving. Tremors ran along the walls of the cavity with alarming regularity. Loki could still hear the roar and hiss of ice collapsing into empty space. The runt shuddered with each new crash.

“You have killed us,” it said, voice low and menacing.

Loki swallowed, sought for bravado. “Really? We both appear to be very much alive. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

Its teeth flashed in the near darkness. “The entire temple has caved in. We are sealed within the snows. Or hadn’t you noticed?” It had not dared to use that recklessly mocking tone to him since their confrontation days--weeks?--ago on the snowy plain. 

That it dared now turned the lining of Loki’s stomach to ice. He could suddenly sense the weight of the of snow and ice that pressed down upon them. Even his sharp senses could barely pick out the runt's features in the gloom. No sign remained of the little room, the main temple chambers, the tunnel to the entrance. He could not even have said in what direction they had once lain.

Another rumble sounded in the distance, followed by a crash. Fine, powdery snow silted down onto their heads. Loki was suddenly very frightened. “Well, what is stopping you?” he demanded. “Cease wasting time and dig us out.”

The runt laughed, low and cynical. “’Dig us out?’ You are a _fool_ , Asgardian. There is no ‘digging out’ from this.”

He could feel his own pulse fluttering in his throat, his temple. But he could not afford to appear weak now. He pressed his face closer still to the runt’s, as close as he was able. “You dare try to deceive me? It will take more than a little tumble in the snow to frighten the wits from me, _Logi,_ ” he spat. “No ‘digging out’ from ‘snows such as this?’ Of course there is. You are a _frost giant._

 _”Dig.”_

It flinched at the sound of its name on his lips. But a moment later, its smile returned, sharper than before. “Asgardian _fool,_ ” it breathed. “You know nothing of this realm, nothing of snow. _It cannot be done._ ”

“Liar,” he breathed back, lips curling back from his teeth. “The entrance to the tunnel, sleeping places. I have seen you do it.”

It exhaled in derision, long and low. “A newborn child can do such things,” it scoffed. “Just as it breathes and shits.” 

Loki’s gorge rose to his throat. For a moment he did not believe. The beast was a frost giant. Shaping snow and ice was what these creatures did, was it not? Indeed, were they even capable of anything else? How could it be that they could not do so, if they wished? The way the runt was raving, it made it sound as though they were skills the beasts were not simply born knowing, as though shaping snow and ice required more than pure instinct. 

As though it were something they must be taught before they could use it. Like the handling of a sword. Like magic.

The runt lunged, hands grinding into the snow on either side of Loki’s head. Its snarled, bared its teeth. “I told you they were cursed,” it said. “I told you you would pay for what you did here.

“And now you have forced me to share in your punishment.”


End file.
